


Heliopause

by FHC_Lynn



Series: Gravity [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Continuity What Continuity, Past Rape/Non-con, Slow Burn, Violence, robot gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:16:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3907519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FHC_Lynn/pseuds/FHC_Lynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking at the bitter end, there was a last desperate chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grasping Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Repeat notes from first installment: Sunstreaker is an unreliable narrator, and I play loose with gender and language thereof.

Sunstreaker loathed thermal paint.

Creeping across the debris strewn roof of the partially collapsed building on his hands and knees, Sunstreaker also decided he loathed the wraps around his joints. Also the silly goggles. The paint _itched_ abominably, the dark shams did not belong stuck in his joints, and the goggles--never mind. Prowl owed him for this.

Ahead, Prowl and a host named Blaster crept along the roof as well. Jazz and Sideswipe had already reached the hatch ahead of them. Beside Sunstreaker crawled a mini class named Brawn. He huffed softly. He clearly wasn't meant for this kind of thing, and Sunstreaker had to wonder just what Prowl had been thinking. He and Sideswipe had an obvious function: visible defense. Jazz had an obvious function: sneaky death. Blaster had a function: communications genius.

Brawn, a former miner, had not had enough training, to Sunstreaker's mind, to be useful. Even on the downhill slide of their losing war.

Ahead, Prowl and Blaster reached the hatch, and Sideswipe went down. Prowl's rifle came out, and the mech spread his painted auxiliary panels wide to catch anything and everything. Prowl jumped down after Sideswipe sent an all clear. Then Blaster disappeared down the hole. Jazz looked up and, when Sunstreaker met his gaze, jerked his chin at Brawn. He pointed down the hatch.

Sunstreaker gritted his denta. Brawn showed enough smarts to swallow a yelp (or growl) when Sunstreaker picked the slagging _heavy_ mini class up and lowered him down the hatch for Sideswipe to catch. His twin grunted and set the mini on his pedes. Patting the mech's arm for attention, Sideswipe pointed after Blaster and Prowl. Sunstreaker looked at Jazz. The mech grinned at him, then calmly stepped forward into the open hatch, falling down without a care. Sunstreaker frowned and went down more cautiously.

Unable to make out the deep grey of his companions' painted frames in the dark of the building's interior, Sunstreaker crept forward cautiously. Jazz had special mods in that visor of his, but the average Cybertronian was blind without visible light or infrared. Sunstreaker knew where _Sideswipe_ stood, and always would know, so he went there. Prowl, Sunstreaker knew, could also 'see'. Prowl said he used ambient sound. Sunstreaker had no idea how that worked in the hush they tried to maintain, but he knew it was Prowl's hand on his shoulder before a second hand touched his lips lightly. The hand fell to rest on his other shoulder, and Prowl tugged him forward.

Assuming Jazz had hold of Brawn and Blaster in much the same way, Sunstreaker grabbed Sideswipe's arm and let Prowl led them deeper inside the building. Sunstreaker could feel Prowl's tension in the Praxian's grip. Unlike Sunstreaker, Prowl did have _some_ good memories of his home city. Sunstreaker hadn't thought enough of Praxus survived to be of any use to anyone. 

It had been, according to the news, over two millennia ago now, destroyed. Only a handful of survivors with the distinctive Praxian frame type had survived. Some of those survivors had been traitors. Others, like Prowl, Bluestreak, and a handful more now survived with the only remaining part of the loyalist army still on Cybertron. Prime and the upper command block had snuck groups of loyalists, here and there, off to different destinations.

The official line was survival of their species over winning their civil war. The resources of the planet, however, rapidly approached the point of no return. There were no ships left, after the last major conflict, but if the last remaining loyalists didn't get off the planet, soon, they would join the remaining rebels in the tomb of their cold, dark world. No more ships, and not enough fuel to fly one, even if they had one. Not and survive a flight to anywhere.

Then Prowl had offered them a solution. Well, a hope for a solution.

Intended for military and enforcement work, before the government of Praxus had rejected him as critically flawed, Prowl had come with a programmed personality--the AI Prowl hated as much as everyone else--and he had come with a store of sensitive, _classified_ , information about Praxus.

Much wasn't of any use, given Prowl's age, even before Praxus had died. But Prowl knew most of the storage locations for sensitive government information. If Praxus had had or knew about any experimental ships and fuel storage locations that might have been forgotten some time during the war, Prowl hoped to find a record of it. It was the only hope left.

Even just the fuel would be good enough. Wheeljack swore he and his team could build a ship.

Over the millennia even the rebels had proved to be disturbed by the sheer quality of destruction they had left at Praxus. Alone in the dead city, the six sent out for Prowl's information had still gone dark. The stealth and secrecy had strained both twins, never mind the mini class. But Jazz had insisted. He wanted no trouble. In and out, _with_ the information. No fuss. But the search had dragged on. In the peripheral clerical building Sunstreaker currently stumbled through, Prowl insisted a back up copy of certain military records were housed. Five floors below the surface.

Sunstreaker did not want to know what Jazz had said to the Prime to convince him to authorize this trip. He wanted to live badly enough that he would hold on to any hope, even at the expense of Prowl's nerves. Now, Prowl led them down the tilted hallway of the partially collapsed building. His hand clenched tightly around Sunstreaker's arm to guide him. The mech had spoken not a word since they had slipped out of their latest operational base in Iacon,

The _AI_ had spoken only when necessary. It lead this trip more than the damaged mech inside. They had been in Praxus far too long, looking through the dead for a way to save the living. Down and down they went in this latest leg of their search. Just as the streets and every other building they had tried, the remains of Praxian shells, all grey and rust, lay scattered amid the corroded debris.

Sunstreaker loathed thermal paint. He looked as grey as the shells.

When Prowl and Jazz got them to the floor where Prowl knew the records should be, Prowl let Sunstreaker go. After Jazz finally lit some torches, they walked down the corridor. Inspecting the grey shells as much signs on the wall, Prowl steered them into a nondescript data entry station full of wall consoles. Prowl looked carefully at each one before motioning Blaster forward.

First, they had to get the old, thoroughly trashed, equipment working. The host released the pair of bipedal symbiotes to help them. Jazz nudged Sideswipe and gestured the red twin after him. Sunstreaker started hauling the single body out of the room. The bars on the husk's arm said the dead mech had been in Praxus' enforcement or defense. Sunstreaker didn't know for sure, and he wouldn't ask Prowl. After a moment, Brawn helped Sunstreaker, for something to do.

Sunstreaker sat down on a more or less usable chair. The narrow back felt odd. It made sense, though, Sunstreaker thought, watching Prowl's wings flutter. The console Prowl had selected finally booted--well, the datapad they had patched into lit up, and the precious power supply they had hooked it up to sparked. Brawn vented audibly in relief. Sunstreaker was surprised when Prowl offered Blaster a hardline connection, but he supposed he shouldn't have been. Blaster might not be as familiar with Praxian coding language.

It had taken days to get here from the last location they had tried. It took hours to fully boot the console, and Sunstreaker fell into recharge waiting on the pair bent over it to find what they were looking for. A light touch woke him; Prowl's hand rested on Sunstreaker's for a moment, then fell away. The mech wobbled on his pedes, and Sunstreaker grabbed his arms to keep Prowl upright.

"Was it worth it?" Sunstreaker asked the living Praxian hopefully. He wanted off Cybertron before it went completely dark. 

"This store was intact. There were other encouraging signs. We will finally be returning to Iacon." Prowl closed his optics. His wings traced a frantic pattern behind him, before dropping low on his frame.

Sunstreaker stood up awkwardly holding Prowl up by the upper arms. "You need fuel...?"

"We are finished here. There is no need to wait--"

"Prowl, you're fallin' over." Sunstreaker said with a patience he didn't feel.

"We need to return to Iacon."

Sunstreaker saw Jazz watching them. The operative couched by Blaster and the two symbiotes, sorting some of the preliminary results. Frowning back at the mech's cold grin, Sunstreaker sat Prowl in the chair he had vacated. Then he dug for a ration bar in his subspace. Sunstreaker held it out to Prowl. "Have this, before you fall down."

"Hey, Prowl--" the mini class interrupted, his voice strained as he stared out the door. "I gotta ask now. We've been in Praxus for two months, but a lot of these... Why aren't they injured? Most of them don't look like they've been hurt. They're just...down..."

Prowl's wings fell as low and tight to Prowl's body as possible. Then both slowly lifted to their full spread, high and flared. Sunstreaker glared at Brawn's back, but Prowl's AI answered. Its calm, even tone made the answer even uglier. "In some fashion, the revolt acquired several resonance disruption explosives. Designed and calibrated to rip spark energy out of cohesion over a very large area, it leaves behind very little in the way of actual damage."

"They made bombs that ripped sparks apart?" the mini class demanded, optics widening. Brawn looked like he wanted to purge.

"It was an experimental device researched and assembled under the Senate's order. All those that were known about, were accounted for in the destruction of Praxus," the AI continued, voice still smooth and level. Brawn, like so many others, hadn't caught on to the glitch yet. He looked at Prowl like the mech was sick. "You need not worry. I understand from Perceptor it is extremely difficult to make."

Sunstreaker scowled at Brawn, then he pushed Prowl's hand up, silently encouraging the AI to finish the ration. "Jazz, how fast can we make it outta the city?"

"If Prowl an' Brawn are up t' haulin' aft, maybe a half hour t' get outta th' buildin' again. But we can head direct over slag on our way out.. Figure ten hours." Jazz didn't look up, but Sunstreaker felt his curious attention like a weight.

"Prowl. You know the roads here. Is there a subroute that might be clear enough?" Sunstreaker met the AI's cold gaze. As he had often seen with Prowl at his most disturbed, something dark slid behind the icy blue optics.

"There is," Prowl said with a funny hitch. Prowl's wings flicked behind him to trace his misery in the air. Finally, the mech spoke slowly, "I...don't...want."

Brawn cast the ever-proper Prowl a startled look. Sideswipe and Blaster, too, turned sidelong looks at the living Praxian. Jazz's attention snapped up quickly and landed like a laser on Sunstreaker. Only Jazz had heard the stumbling tone before; Sideswipe _knew_ , but he hadn't heard.

Sunstreaker scowled. If Prowl could force words past the AI, with relative strangers around, it meant one of two things. Either Prowl's desire to avoid that route was absolute, or Prowl was too exhausted to care that he was showing the glitch. The golden twin bet on the first option, given the flail of the mech's wings. As good as he was at following the tilt and speed of the things, Prowl's current agitation moved them too fast. Growling, Sunstreaker caught one of the bicolor wings. "Prowl..."

"Don't...make. Please."

"What's on the road, Prowl?" Sunstreaker asked carefully. Prowl's wing quivered in his hand. The Praxian actually reached for Sunstreaker's shoulder. His grip tightened enough to dent.

"Him. Above."

Sunstreaker stared, struggling to puzzle out that cryptic answer and somehow not flinch under Prowl's grip. Prowl had been designed to overpower other mechs. Finally, "I need a little more, Prowl. Him who? Above the subroute out of here...?"

The agitated flapping of Prowl's wings took the one Sunstreaker held out of his hand. Prowl hissed, "Quadrant."

Sunstreaker cycled his optics, and he did not understand Prowl's clue at all. His processor spun through options quickly as his confusion and unease rose. Then he got it. And he felt like he'd been kicked in the intake. Very slowly, Sunstreaker said, " _The claws_. The subroute passes under your old home."

Prowl had a real, physical game board for Quadrant. An ancient travel-ready thing that had seen better days. Prowl rarely touched it in the last few centuries. On the flaking purple pieces, claw marks had been worn through use into interesting, unique grooves. Someone had played the game with Prowl on that board for who knew how long before the fall of Praxus. Someone, Sunstreaker had determined, that Prowl had loved very, very deeply. Someone that hadn't survived with him, because Prowl had been unlucky enough to be alone on a business trip.

Prowl managed a jerky nod. Jazz, behind him, made a 'hurry up' gesture. Sunstreaker wished Jazz and his grimey attitude were elsewhere. But the mech had a point; They needed to get out of Praxus in the least visible way possible. Tensing under everyone's scrutiny, Sunstreaker rested one hand over Prowl's on his shoulder. "Okay. Is it blocked off, you think?"

The rapid up and down flapping of Prowl's wings was never good, but when they went still, it was much worse. The mech trembled as he fought with himself. After a long, uncomfortable pause that left Sunstreaker feeling like _he_ was the grime, Prowl whispered, "I...think... I think not much."

"Okay." Not for the first time, Sunstreaker wished the world hadn't ended. Sometimes, it was too hard, dealing with the wreck Prowl called a processor. "Will it speed us up?"

"Yes."

"And we'll be less visible?"

"Yes."

"All right. That sounds like the best way."

"Don't..."

This would be so much easier if everyone stopped _staring_. "Prowl, you told me that we have now, remember? We're not gonna have a very long 'now', if we get caught."

Prowl looked up at him. The hand on Sunstreaker's shoulder tightened painfully. Then Prowl nodded slowly. Sunstreaker noted unhappily that Prowl's body relaxed. Except for the fluttery wings. The AI turned and picked a path back to Jazz. Sunstreaker closed his optics. Sometimes, he regretted making friends with Prowl. Sunstreaker was not a good friend.

"There is an outlet to the subroute systems four floors up," Prowl announced quietly. Then, to Jazz, "Are we ready?"

"Yep. Jus' finishin' th' pack'n'copy. We cool?" Jazz asked. Head canting in a friendly fashion, a tired smile curved his mouth.

"We are coated in thermal paint. We do look cool," the AI answered him. It liked Jazz no better than the mech. Pointing out into the hall, it continued, "We need to go up the emergency shaft, that you and Sideswipe found, to reach the outlet. The lock on the door will have failed. You have the melt gel, correct?"

"Yep."

"Then, when you are ready, we may leave."

"Ah'm a-hurryin'," Blaster interjected with a tired chuckle. "We all goin' together? Ah'm seein' 'nough good signs, maybe we should split? Make sure this gets back."

"Kinda like that notion," Jazz said, stretching.

Prowl stared at nothing for a moment. "I calculate the best odds if Lieutenant Blaster and Warrior Sideswipe go with you, Commander Jazz, and if Sunstreaker and Warrior Brawn come with me."

Jazz smirked. "Split th' twins up? Kinda dangerous, tha'. What if we lose one?"

Sunstreaker scowled. "As if. Be your slow, dumb aft we lose first."

"Hush, Sunstreaker. Commander Jazz, I believe that point is mitigated by untraceable, if limited communication. The revolt has not seemed aware of their peculiar talent," Prowl murmured easily. He put a hand out to forestall any more complaints from Sunstreaker.

"Aw, c'mon, Prowl, why can't we take Sideswipe?" Brawn demanded.

"I'm gonna beat your face in--" Sunstreaker snarled. Prowl's hand suddenly pressing on his chest plate kept him from lunging at the mini class.

"Lieutenant Blaster should go with Commander Jazz, because they have fought well together in the past. Warrior Sideswipe has a jetpack, and Commander Jazz carries a rappelling line, should they encounter extreme debris. Also, Warrior Sideswipe must go with Commander Jazz because Warrior Sideswipe does not like me," Prowl said matter-of-factly. He looked down at the mini class miner with his wings angled high and tight in anger, but his soft, level tone remained conversational. "Sunstreaker will listen to me where he will ignore Commander Jazz or Lieutenant Blaster, and you are capable of letting us dig past any debris that we might encounter. Have I sufficiently explained my choices for your approval, Warrior Brawn?"

"Yes, sir," Brawn muttered. Arms crossing over his chest plate, the mini class kicked a long-dead datapad to give himself something to look at. "I'm sorry. Just, y'know, Sun an' me ain't gettin' along."

"My name is Sunstreaker, half-size. Learn it, use it," the angry twin growled.

Sideswipe laughed. "Aw, he's just bein' friendly, Sun."

"He just called you--"

"He's my brother, tailpipe. Wanna try again?"

"Stop," Prowl cut in. His palm patted Sunstreaker's chest. The painted wings flicked twice, and Sunstreaker watched them intently. Maybe this would be okay, after all. Prowl looked at Jazz. "Commander Jazz, are we ready?"

Glancing at Blaster with a broad grin that the host echoed with a laugh, Jazz nodded, then took the record chip from Blaster and held it up for Prowl. "Yeah. Here y' go, Prowl."

"The door onto the outlet will have a police grade lock, but it will be long dead. Using the melt gel will be faster than attempting to revitalize it," Prowl responded. The Praxian handed the chip to Sunstreaker, tapping his physical storage slot. "Here, please. This must arrive."

Sunstreaker eyed Prowl, frowning. He wondered what the mech had planned. Sunstreaker knew better than to ask or try to out think Prowl. He couldn't even beat Prowl at penta. Smelting pit, Sunstreaker couldn't even _tie_ the mech at nine square.

While Sunstreaker put the chip in his storage, Blaster took his symbiotes back into their dock. Jazz and Prowl discussed their separate paths, then ended the lights. Sunstreaker reached for Sideswipe near him. Moments later, Prowl's hand touched his dented shoulder, squeezing once gently, then dropped to his forearm. Prowl led them out them and down to his emergency shaft. The unbroken darkness on the climb up _pressed_ on Sunstreaker. Wheeljack could spout all the nonsense he wanted about light having mass.

The dead and dark of Cybertron had more mass, if anyone asked Sunstreaker.

He found the open door at the top of the shaft because an unfamiliar hand grabbed his forearm, not Prowl's, and he flinched. The hand tightened, and Sunstreaker growled. The smothered snort of laughter told him it was Jazz. Sunstreaker's plating tightened.

"C'mon, c'mon," Jazz whispered. "We haven' got all day."

Sunstreaker shoved at Jazz's hands and climbed up without the offered help. Jazz pushed him to the side and bent to help Sideswipe up. He guessed his brother didn't also smack Jazz, but the growl sounded just as mad as Sunstreaker's had. He tugged Sideswipe to the side with him, when his twin was up. Prowl's hand touched his elbow, pulled him down the hall. Light flared ahead of them, showing Blaster at the outlet door with Jazz's melt gel gun in hand. Typical for the door type, Blaster had to reapply and reignite the gunk until it ate through the door, leaving a hole where the locking mechanism used to be.

"You sure we can't take Blaster instead of Brawn? I'll carry him _and_ his slaggin' micro horde," Sunstreaker muttered to Prowl. The Praxian's wings flicked twice, and Blaster laughed as well, but Brawn would have hit him.

Jazz caught the mech's hand. "Jus' 'cause he's a slagger don' mean y' gotta let him win."

"So he can get away with this slag?" Brawn growled.

"See, he's tryin' a make y' hit him. That'll make us switch y' an' Blaster out, see, 'cause Sunstreaker has t' stay with Prowl. Prime's orders. 'Member?"

"Yeah, yeah. I was at the meeting," Brawn huffed and glared at Sunstreaker, who glared right back. Then the mini class folded his arms, muttering to himself. "Why the frag s' that, anyway?"

Jazz shook his head, glanced at Prowl with a smirk, then nudged Brawn. "Go move th' door."

Brawn glared at Jazz. Jazz's smile broadened into a grin. Brawn vented, then moved to join Blaster. Shaking his head, Sideswipe followed. With the lock gone, the pair managed pry the door back, then continue to wedge it open until even the widest of them could slip out.

"All right. See ya back in Iacon, Prowl," Jazz chuckled. Then he pointed Blaster and Sideswipe over the guardrail. "We're takin' th' Underbelly."

Sideswipe groaned.

"Shuddup. S'gotta be clear, mech," Blaster snickered.

"Yeah, but who's gettin' you there? Fine, fine. I'm gonna need an extra ration, after this," Sideswipe complained.

"I got one. Jus' go on over now, an' take th' end a this." Jazz thrust the end of his rappelling line into Sideswipe's hand.

Prowl tugged him around. The Praxian took the muffling rags off of Sunstreaker's joints, and afterward he held still while Sunstreaker did the same for him. Then, Prowl stepped out to the road. Venting, Sunstreaker shifted into his alt mode, followed Prowl and Brawn's driving modes away, and listened to the sounds of the other three fading with distance.


	2. In The Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short, but I think I'm past the funk. No beta, still.

"You're fidgeting again."

Ratchet glared at the last Prime over the work table between them. Ratchet growled, "So?"

Optimus chuckled, propped his elbow on the table, and set his chin in his palm. "You know, you should relax more. I thought you adopted them because they're big, bad mechs you won't have to worry about. Built Kaon tough."

Ratchet tossed an ancient socket wrench at Optimus, snarling. "Stop that! That kind of separatist thinking is what got us here! Besides, it's Wheeljack's careless aft I'm worried about. The twins are too damned good, and Prowl's design won't _let_ him extinguish."

"I know. He gave me a copy of the specs you made. Insisted I should know his capabilities," Optimus vented. Drumming his fingers on the table, the young Prime thought. Finally, "Wheeljack is with Bumblebee, you know. Wheeljack will be fine. Bumblebee impresses Jazz."

"I know. I still worry. We're dying here. And I'm frightened."

"It's okay to be scared, Ratchet. Especially as young as you are. All you know is death and destruction. Wheeljack will be fine. Your twins will be fine," Optimus said with a weak smile for Ratchet's surprise. Unfolding himself, the Prime reached a hand across the table to take one of Ratchet's. "You're barely older than I am. I've always known. You've got the rest fooled, but I don't need you to be strong for me. I need you to be Ratchet."

"You're a terrible mech, Optimus," Ratchet growled and took his hand back. "I'm supposed to be your support--"

"No. You're my _friend_. And it's my turn support you. Your family will be back. And we _will_ survive. I won't entertain an ending to our race."

Ratchet twitched his hands among his tools. "Why do I believe you?"

"Because I haven't lead you astray in all this time. Believe me a little while longer, my friend, and we'll be on a new home. And the war will die with Cybertron," Optimus finished, his voice tense. "Even if Prowl does find a whole ship ready to leave tomorrow, we will sneak away like thieves."

"You still think we should take the rebels?"

"I don't want to leave _anyone_ , Ratchet. But I... If he won't _listen_..." Optimus vented.

"Yeah. I know. I know," Ratchet said softly. "We'll focus on the positive, then. Get a ship, get off this death trap."

"That is a plan I think I can still accomplish." Optimus folded his hands together. "I wish we still had enough supplies for high grade."

"Don't we all?"

* * *

"Prowl, hey, why we slowed down here?" Brawn asked as the group reached the central city region. The Praxian shivered in his graceful alt mode, and he slowed further. Brawn's squat alt practically wiggled. Sunstreaker would have scowled, if he had been bipedal. Prodding the AI got nothing useful; prodding at Prowl got trouble.

Sunstreaker sped up until he came alongside Prowl. Like most roads on their dying world, this one had a path cleared away from the cities. He felt Prowl's focus settle on him as the Praxian halted. Sunstreaker stopped, too, and both mechs ignored Brawn's complaints. Sunstreaker flexed his rear view sensors at Prowl, then he sidled closer, tapped Prowl's hover well with his own, and took off.

Praxus might have tossed Prowl out for being a glitch, but the AI and the body it controlled were flawless. Only the mismatch between the programmed and the summoned personalities caused a problem--the glitch.

Prowl smothered his sirens, but the AI sped after Sunstreaker instinctively. Brawn yelped and chugged along behind the bigger, sleeker mechs. It was a mean trick, using Prowl against himself, but Sunstreaker wanted to get back to the base. He wanted them to find a ship because he wanted to live. Prowl wanted that much, too, on his better days, and Sunstreaker knew how to play him.

Prowl loved all kinds of games.

While Sunstreaker would never admit Prowl's design was superior to his own, the Praxian caught up to him easily. Prowl gently pressed against Sunstreaker, length to length. The yellow mech slowed to a more reasonable traveling speed and grumbled, "How long will this way be? To get back to base."

"Six hours. Provided there are no obstacles," Prowl replied.

"Only 'obstacle' I see is you two cuddlin'. I thought officers weren't allowed to frag grunts?" Brawn muttered.

Prowl tapped his hover well against Sunstreaker's, cutting the yellow mech's annoyance off. "Sunstreaker is my friend, Warrior Brawn. And not part of our forces. He merely works with us for mutual benefit."

"The slag's that mean?"

"I ain't in your rusted army, slag-head," Sunstreaker snarled. He threw himself forward instead of at Brawn. Prowl sped up behind him, and again, Brawn strained to keep up.

Prowl let him keep the lead. Sometimes, and Sunstreaker could never predict when, his anger amused Prowl to no end. With the Praxian folded up into his alt mode, Sunstreaker couldn't read him as well, but he suspected Prowl of silently laughing at him now.

Near the under-city's edge, Sunstreaker realized that Prowl had slowed again. The debris, mostly greyed, rusted Praxians, thickened here. The dead of Praxus had either had no warning at all, or had been murdered as they tried to escape. Few survivors, Sunstreaker remembered, had been found among the ruins. All the cities had fallen, now, in one way or another, but none _like_ Praxus. It still stood out against a backdrop of burned out, broken cities.

The imprint of that event hadn't just scarred the face of Cybertron. That act of genocide had taken the will to live from the few survivors.

Sunstreaker had watched, over the past two millennia, not just Prowl but all the surviving Praxians, fade away. It hadn't been a particularly martial culture, however good Prowl's design was. Few of its survivors had been able to make the leap into the war. Even those that had made it, did not want it--not even Prowl, who was in his element in tactical.

Brawn whined again as Prowl stopped, followed by Sunstreaker. The tall warrior vented. After a moment, he unfolded and peered down at the Praxian. Prowl said. "Sunstreaker, my sensors pick up a sound. Can you climb that debris pile and locate the source of the noise? Also, there should be a maintenance shaft nearby."

Sunstreaker favored Prowl with an ugly look. Still, he climbed up the biggest pile of wall parts and body parts to look past the city's edge. Across the empty chasm the low road stretched, empty and crumbling. Sunstreaker spotted movement in the starry sky visible high above. Narrowing his gaze, he tracked it and reached through himself for his other half. Sunstreaker looked down at Prowl and spoke quietly, "There's a maintenance shaft three clicks down, you're right. Sideswipe says they're making good time, and they're runnin' clean so far. _We_ got airborne."

"The frag you commin' him for--"

"I didn't comm anyone, you ash pile," Sunstreaker hissed back at Brawn.

Prowl transformed and reached a hand out toward Sunstreaker, to cut the budding fight off. Sunstreaker scowled at the wings flicking behind the Praxian. It wasn't funny; Prowl had no call to laugh. Still, at least the mech had engaged, somewhat, and not just left the AI to handle it. "Sunstreaker, come down. We will use the maintenance shaft. My city plans indicate it goes low enough to cut off sight from the easily flown areas."

"Fine." Visibly sulking, Sunstreaker climbed back down the pile. He folded up into his alt mode before Prowl could make it a request and growled softly to himself. The Praxian had the struts to pat the painted armor above the warrior's spark, auxiliary panels twitching, and resumed his own alt mode.

They hovered slowly toward the maintenance shaft, and Sunstreaker kept his attention on Prowl. If it didn't quite match Red Alert's, the mech's sensor suite very nearly put Jazz's to shame. Prowl would hear the airborne turn before Sunstreaker could get a visual.

Out in the open, any fliers were devastating.

Prowl changed out of his alt mode at the maintenance shaft and gestured Brawn down first, then Sunstreaker. The yellow twin eyed him, thinking about the chip in his storage. Taking one rung in hand, Sunstreaker muttered, "You still owe me. I'm filthy, tired, and you promised me a ship."

Chin lifting to meet Sunstreaker's gaze, Prowl cycled his optics. His wings twisted quickly through a familiar pattern, then settled. Sunstreaker mentally translated it into the cryptic acceptance it was before he climbed down the shaft.

Prowl kept them climbing down for ten levels. Down near the end of once-inhabited space on their shell of a world, Sunstreaker felt uneasy. An oppressive sense of being _watched_ crowded him.

Prowl's AI folded into his alt mode like nothing and lead them down the road away from the shaft. Sunstreaker hunched up uncomfortably. Fewer greyed shells littered the road, but more honest debris slowed their progress, including parts of higher roadways.

Sunstreaker still felt like they weren't alone.

He couldn't put his finger on what had him jumpy, but his nerves had Brawn fidgeting with him. Out of irritation. Sunstreaker felt Prowl's curiosity intensifying every time the mech's attention fell on him. The yellow twin knew the mech had dialed up his sensory network to their highest setting. Most officers tended to ignore both twins' antics, but the smart few had learned their twitching generally bore into _something_.

The survival instincts hadn't died when they escaped Kaon, after all.

Brawn started to complain. Sunstreaker hissed him into silence. Both sounds echoed outward, soft but distinct in the clattering quiet of the decaying world around them. And Sunstreaker practically felt their unseen audience grow. He stopped moving.

"Sunstreaker?" Prowl's carefully modulated voice didn't soothe his upset. Sunstreaker hissed him quiet, too. The mech sounded confused, and Sunstreaker knew if anything was there, Prowl should know, but the Praxian didn't seem alarmed--except for Sunstreaker's behavior.

Transforming, he hesitated a moment before stepping quietly over the debris toward the roadway's side barriers. Left. Towards Sideswipe's distant presence. Not between them. Below. Sunstreaker looked down over the barrier. Prowl's hand rested on his forearm, but Sunstreaker ignored him. Below, darkness looked back at Sunstreaker.

Prowl's wings began to twitch. "Sunstreaker, there is nothing here. What do you see?"

"Nothing," Sunstreaker rasped. He felt the darkness moving, and he blended into his other half. Sideswipe's awareness reached back. He could almost make it out now, pulsing in the dark. Dreaming, way down there, and just aware enough to frighten him. The open sky was clear above, and he saw the stars past Blaster's startled face. Prowl hissed beside him, auxiliary panels snapping high before the Praxian pulled him to the road's surface.

Sunstreaker shook his head, snapping his half-concentration clean of the whole of himself. The airborne. Finely calibrated thrusters roared through the close air from above, getting closer. Sunstreaker forced the darkness beneath them out of his thoughts along with Sideswipe. 

Prowl released Sunstreaker, and the yellow warrior scrambled into the lee of a fallen road-chunk. Wedging under an overhanging piece, Sunstreaker heard the buckled, sloped road beneath his pedes protest. It would be a long way to fall, if the road did cave.

The Praxian, wings flared, pressed himself on another pile of parts; the thermal paint's dark grey actually made them all look more like the dead. If they were still enough, they could hide long enough for the airborne to leave.

The sound drew closer.

Sunstreaker glanced at Brawn. The little mech pressed tightly against the crumbling barrier wall, optics closed. Forcing himself to be still, Sunstreaker dimmed his own optics. He focused his limited, shadowed sight on the Praxian and listened those fuel-wasting thrusters come ever closer.

Rusted flight frames took more than twice the fuel he did. Perceptor and Wheeljack didn't know how long they could keep finding sources and ways to keep them all alive, but it wouldn't be long enough for Sunstreaker's peace of mind.

The approaching roar leveled off; Prowl stiffened. Except for the flutter of his wings. An old memory of Prowl's voice replayed in Sunstreaker's audials about the remembered sound of seekers. Sunstreaker swore and looked up, bringing his optics to full sensitivity. He still didn't see the airborne, but when he looked at Prowl...

Ratchet still thought Prowl was cold. Ironhide said the mech was too reserved. Jazz just _smiled_ in that way of his. Sunstreaker had seen that look on mechs' faces in the arena. Right before the masters had put them down while the doomed, crazy mechs vibrated with hate in their cages.

Sunstreaker broke his cover and crawled toward Prowl. Brawn hissed, and Sunstreaker heard the airborne turning. Sunstreaker didn't look up. He grabbed Prowl by the right auxiliary sensor panel and shook the mech as hard as he could. Prowl screeched like a laserhawk, and a vicious left hook crashed into Sunstreaker's face.

Sunstreaker had momentarily forgotten that Prowl was actually _stronger_ than he was. The cheek ridge of his beautifully crafted second face cracked under the impact, but the expected second hit never came. Sunstreaker steadied himself on Prowl's rubble pile and touched his face. It came away smeared blue, and he looked up at Prowl. "Prowl, a ship. We wanna leave, remember? _This_ place is dead. We're not."

Prowl trembled, hate and the most intense longing warred across the Praxian's expression. His wings suddenly jerked up. The airborne roared up, gaining speed. Sunstreaker's movement had been seen--or Prowl's indignant screech had been heard.

"Brawn, Sunstreaker--"

"I'm faster," Sunstreaker reminded Prowl.

"You have--"

"Here, then." Sunstreaker growled and took the chip out of his storage and shoved it into Prowl's hand. Sunstreaker threw himself down into his alt mode and spun away.

Sunstreaker aimed himself toward the airborne coming into view now. What had possessed a _shuttle_ class mech to fly down here, Sunstreaker didn't know, but the confines worked in his favor, now. The winding maneuvers slowed the rebel down; the road structures forced him around and under as he changed direction to follow Sunstreaker down the crumbling road.

Strangely, the shuttle didn't have company, so he wasn't one of those Sunstreaker had spotted above. But he was, however, much bigger than the seekers that Sunstreaker had grown entirely too familiar with. It promised an easier time out maneuvering the flier, if Sunstreaker backtracked into the Praxian undercity. Putting everything he had into speed, Sunstreaker slalomed crazily past the wreckage he couldn't drive over.

The flier did the craziest thing as he roared over Sunstreaker; the mech changed. Not into his root mode, but into a second alt mode. Sunstreaker nearly careened into the barrier as the mech slammed into the road ahead of him. Modeled after the ancient, wheeled transports that had been designed for the greater rail lines at the dawn of the damned _Golden Age_ , the mech had to easily mass twice what Sunstreaker did.

The mech hurled insults as he rolled toward Sunstreaker. The yellow warrior couldn't go backward; Prowl and Brawn needed time to get away. Flycart stood between him and the dead city. Sunstreaker's attention fell on a buckled section of road. It had turned sharply upward when Flycart landed. It wasn't Sideswipe to push him, but Sunstreaker raced toward it quickly. The cargo hauler changed direction to meet him head-on.

Sunstreaker hit the makeshift ramp at his top speed. He caught air--then the edge of Flycart's alt mode face. Sunstreaker shifted as fast as he could force himself to do, grabbing the mech. Ignoring the shrieking, Sunstreaker swung himself up. He ran two steps forward before Flycart changed into his root mode. Sunstreaker threw himself at the road as Flycart grabbed after him wildly. Sunstreaker's shoulder screamed pain up his sensornet, but he twisted himself back into his alt, anyway.

Sunstreaker didn't know _how_ the mech could do what he did, and Sunstreaker didn't want to know. The warrior poured everything into getting away. If he didn't make it to the undercity, the mech would have him again. He could lose Flycart in the city. He'd done it before, although his preference was to kill all attackers.

Sunstreaker didn't like loose ends; they always came back to him.

Hearing the mech sequence into his ground mode again, Sunstreaker decided he was fragged. The roar of a missile drowned out Flycart's cursing; Sunstreaker had forgotten Prowl had those subspaced. Spinning around to face Flycart, Sunstreaker saw that Prowl's aim was good as ever. The Praxian had tagged the freak on the other end of the ground mode.

Flycart shouted something as he tried to assume his root mode again. Sunstreaker sped toward him, hitting him in the legs, and the massive mech crashed over him. A heavy weight crashed into Flycart, making the mech shriek, and Sunstreaker grunted his own pain as he squirmed his alt mode out from underneath Flycart.

Flycart shifted right on top on Sunstreaker, gouging his armor. The freak's thrusters burned him as the shuttle mode launched. Blinded, Sunstreaker heard the whooshing of something thrown, and another telltale missile burn. The explosion and crunch satisfied Sunstreaker deeply as he struggled down the road. The thrusters, like the shouted curses, continued to fade.

Prowl's voice called behind him, so he cursed to himself, and turned around. He ignored Brawn's laughter. Gentle hands stopped him, and Prowl explored his injuries. "Warrior Brawn, we are going to eschew stealth and make a run for base. I have no information on that mech, and I do not know if there are others. Sunstreaker, can you keep up?"

"Yeah. Be fine," Sunstreaker growled. Then muttered, "Alt mode sight's gone."

"I have cables. Will you allow me to lead you?" Prowl's cool hands actually felt good on his scorched armor. Sunstreaker shivered. "Your secondary optical sensor slagged with your forward biolights. Your hover wells are intact. You should be able to hold speed, if I lead you well."

Sunstreaker did not want to be on a leash again. He shuddered and forced down old, frightening memories. Sideswipe pushed in from the other end. Sunstreaker allowed the merge to soothe his brother's upset, and his own, as much to share the news. They felt the _other_ , the _watcher_ in the void, and both pulled away sharply. Shivering, he reminded himself that he trusted Prowl. Finally, reluctantly, he said, "All right. We gotta hurry. Si says they're still clean, but they're gonna run, too."

"I trust Commander Jazz's judgment. Here, if I may..." Prowl's touch went away, then it returned with the cables. The Praxian tied them carefully. Sunstreaker heard him fold into his alt. Shifting uneasily, Sunstreaker listened to Brawn tie the other end to Prowl. "Warrior Brawn, you need to take point. You will need to move debris."

"Yeah, yeah. I figured. At least we ain't sneakin' around."

Brawn transformed, and Prowl cautiously rolled forward. Sunstreaker growled, "Hurry. I don't think we can handle reinforcements."

Brawn snorted ahead of them, but Prowl sped up. Sunstreaker hoped they could make it.


	3. Taking Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first section here was posted separately for the tf_rare_pairing community on Dreamwidth for the prompt: Thundercracker/Soundwave - lullaby. I'd already paired them up much later in this series, so it worked.

The real question wasn't if they would die but when.

Thundercracker had trouble accepting that. He had trouble thinking about it, and slow-building panic lit across his processor as rationing got tighter and tighter. Flight frames needed so much more. Soon there wouldn't be enough.

He hated the loyalists even more now. Thundercracker bet _they_ had enough. And it was their fault things had come to this. Destroy the Prime and Matrix, ensure freedom for all. Set Megatron up as leader, and no one needed to starve again. Equalize taxes to income. Pad protective laws around lives. Ensure and promote _choices_. Real choices.

Why did anyone side with a Prime?

But here they were at the end of days. Well, for Cybertron. The militia had gotten some groups off into the galaxy. Megatron had told them not to come back. There were Cybertronian colonies out there. Their people would survive. Were surviving. And they were free.

And Thundercracker desperately wanted to be among them.

Soothing caresses started in his mind before broad, warm hands touched his wings. The seeker shivered into the touch, staring down at the ruin of Kaon. Soundwave vented and wrapped his arms around Thundercracker.

"Tell me about it again? That vision?" Thundercracker whispered. Breaking Soundwave's grip only to turn and wrap himself around the shorter mech. "Tell me this is worth it. When we die. I'll find a way to be okay."

"Interface access. Open?"

Thundercracker hesitated. While the militia had taken up hardlining as the preferred interface method as resources dwindled, he didn't think Soundwave was asking for a frag. Cautiously, Thundercracker did as the host asked. In all the years since Soundwave had made his first, cautious advances, he had only ever been gentle.

He lowered his firewalls, merged them with Soundwave's easily. Venting again and steadying both their physical bodies, Soundwave pulled Thundercracker into his memories, and carefully plunged them both into a high fidelity file.

Thundercracker looked up through Soundwave's optics at the tall, scarred leader of the new revolution. One of a rapidly enlarging crowd around the mech, Thundercracker felt the shimmer of their fields through Soundwave.

Angry. Scared. Hopeless.

Soundwave felt no differently than the crowd. In his lover's memory, Thundercracker realized that Soundwave had just lost one of his eldest symbiotes to hunger before this rally. The young revolutionary on the junk pile spoke to the crowd, to Soundwave, from a place of matching pain.

As Megatron spoke, the power in the crowd grew. It wasn't about him; it wasn't about any one mech. The future framed in those words could be bright. Those created now didn't need to know the limits their elders had.

Thundercracker touched the memory, listening to the promise of Megatron's words and feeling the sincerity of his field. If Thundercracker did not live to see it, the groups snuck off for the colonies would survive. Those survivors were free.

Even the groups the loyalists had gotten off had hope. The Prime remained on Cybertron. His grip on them could only be tenuous at best. Those mechs could break that. Thundercracker relaxed against Soundwave.

It was worth it, then. When that final shutdown came, he could take the hope with him. A little like a lullaby in the dark. There was a future.

"Thank you," the seeker whispered. Soundwave held him tight. They watched the distant stars.

* * *

"Sun!" Light steps pounded down the stairs from the sniper's turret just as Brawn undid Sunstreaker's leash from Prowl's aft. He heard Prowl unfold before two sets of hands started touching him. He knew the snap-clack he heard came from mobile auxiliary panels. Bluestreak's voice growled at Prowl, "You got him hurt! You always do this, and I'm not--"

"Whoa, whoa!" Brawn said. "He scuffed himself up, squawkbox. Back off--"

"Warrior Brawn, do not speak--"

"Sit on it, and turn your axle, Prowl. I can fight my own battles--"

Sunstreaker groaned and wished Sideswipe had beaten him here. Forcing himself out of his alt with a strangled yelp as slagged plating broke apart (he never, _ever_ shrieked), Sunstreaker fell on top of Prowl and his cool hands. "To the fraggin' Pit with all of you, just get me to Ratchet!"

Bluestreak glared at Prowl. He also shoved himself under Sunstreaker's arm. The whole way down, Bluestreak related all the slag that Sunstreaker hadn't cared that he missed while he had been running across the dead landscape of Cybertron with half the high command structure. Sunstreaker listened no better than he ever did; Bluestreak talked mostly so he didn't have to hear the quiet. Prowl, on the other hand, remained silent and steady beneath Sunstreaker's relative bulk as they limped along.

The entry of the medical suite, like so many others, had been disabled in the open position as resources dwindled. The operating theater had been curtained, at least, but the dust of the remaining living still got everywhere. Ratchet cursed as they crossed the threshold. Prowl allowed Ratchet to push him aside. Sunstreaker glared at Prowl for it, but the officer followed them through the curtain. His wings skipped twice, fast and jerky; Prowl's unhappy, nervous laugh. Mollified, Sunstreaker still grumbled as Prowl nudged Bluestreak aside to help Ratchet lift the heavy warrior up to the operating table. Ratchet snarled at both Praxians, and Prowl pulled the glaring Bluestreak to the side, giving the medic room to work.

"Just how did you get burned like this?" the rant began, "And how did you crunch your shoulder? You know I don't have supplies, Sun--"

"Prowl? Bluestreak pinged from the turret... Oh, dear. Sunstreaker, you got hurt again?" Prime, fragging Prime, peeked inside the curtain.

Ratchet snarled a vivid curse, then, "Out! Out, all of you!"

Bluestreak flinched and let Prime tug him outside. Prowl ignored the medic. Prime hesitated. Ratchet bared his denta. Prowl's auxiliary panels fluttered. "Prime, I would like to stay with Sunstreaker."

Sunstreaker felt Ratchet's tension in his hands. He still didn't get Ratchet's dislike of Prowl. Groaning, he said, "Prowl, go on. You said the data looked good. I want off this wreck. Ratchet likes me too much to frag me up more."

The twitchy wings flicked up and around in agitation. Finally, they settled tight to his body and angled high, but the slow quiver made it fear, not anger. After a conflicted pause, Prowl said, "I will return, Sunstreaker."

"I know, Prowl," Sunstreaker muttered. "Ratchet, slaggit, that hurt!"

Prime took the Praxians away, and Ratchet's gentle hands soothed him nearly as much as Prowl's light touch did. "Let me do a local-- There. Better? Good. Now what happened to you?"

"Afterburn. We ran into a rebel on our way outta Praxus. Had a shuttle mode. And I threw myself over him once. Hit the road hard," Sunstreaker said, sullen. He still hadn't worked out how the mech had two alts, and he knew that Ratchet would hear about it--and he might know how it worked. But right now, Sunstreaker just wanted to be fixed up and allowed to rest.

And for Primus' sake get the slagging evil thermal paint off his plating.

Ratchet cursed inventively and settled in to work. He always ran a quiet commentary as he had fixed Sunstreaker's various hurts over the years. Sunstreaker appreciated knowing what he did and why. Sunstreaker listened, still, but he often found himself drifting, these days. This was routine, and Ratchet was safe. Sunstreaker grunted at appropriate times, but he offlined his optics.

His chronometer told him it was six hours later when he came back online. Sideswipe rested nearby and below him...? Sunstreaker opened his optics blearily. The operating theatre's curtained entry stood out in a bright outline in the dark room. Sideswipe stirred at the bottom if the berth below him. "Sun?"

"Ratchet let you in here? An' he didn't take me out?" Sunstreaker grumbled. His diagnostic informed him that Ratchet had done his usual best. The shoulder needed time to settle, as did his replaced secondary optics. His scorched chest plate had been cleaned and covered with nanopaste.

"Ratchet wasn't here when we got in, but he left a comm for me that says you're good to go. Bluestreak said Prime called a meeting. Blaster an' Jazz got dragged in, soon as we arrived. Dunno, mech. They really think we got a way off this junk heap. Guess it's gettin' top billing in the show." Sideswipe climbed to his pedes and helped Sunstreaker down. "C'mon. I get rest of this slag off you, you get this slag off me. Deal?"

"Yes! I wanna be clean again," Sunstreaker whined.

He followed Sideswipe out, stretching the echoes of pain from his sensor net. The cleaning station didn't involve liquid solution cleansers any longer, but Sideswipe had a deft hand with the dry solvents and a brush set. Teasing Sunstreaker the whole time, he still mollified his twin's offended vanity by the time he had finished. Standing still for Sunstreaker to work on him, Sideswipe vented, "You really happy to leave Cybertron?"

"Nothin' left here, Si. Just us an' the dead. Pretty soon, that's all it'll be. The dead. I don't wanna be here, then."

"Yeah. I guess so." Sideswipe fell silent until he was clean, then he grinned at Sunstreaker. "Bluestreak says he an' Mirage got a penta game goin' in the common. Wanna go?"

Sunstreaker made a face. "I'm tired."

"So'm I. An' you had a longer nap!"

"Wasn' nappin', you sheared cog! I got hurt."

"Am I interrupting?" A repeated flick of panels punctuated Prowl's flat question. Sunstreaker whirled to face the silently laughing mech and scowled. The Praxian held the frame of the disabled door, swaying on his pedes. He still had that blasted thermal paint on him.

"Get over here," Sunstreaker growled, hands twitching. If he never saw that slag again, he would count himself lucky. Sideswipe hissed at him, and Prowl arched an optical ridge. The mech did not stumble as he crossed the room, but he did lean on the wall by Sunstreaker. Ignoring his annoyed twin, Sunstreaker applied the dry solvent to the ugly paint on Prowl.

"Sunstreaker, I did not intend for you to help me. You were injured," Prowl murmured. The Praxian looked at Sideswipe. his auxiliary panels shifted up and slightly out.

Sunstreaker smacked them. Lightly; he knew how sensitive they were. "Be still."

"Ratchet said he was done," Sideswipe ground out. The red twin grabbed a spare brush and squatted down to work on Prowl's legs and pedes.

"Do you really feel up to this?" Prowl asked as Sunstreaker started working the crumbling paint from his wings. Sunstreaker hadn't felt the urge to work since the fall of Iacon, but he still had a careful, controlled touch. While Prowl looked at him with disquieting intensity, Sunstreaker had learned how to make this _not_ awkward.

Well, not _as_ awkward.

"I'm hungry and dizzy, and I feel creaky. But I'll live. Ratchet worries too much," Sunstreaker complained.

Sideswipe snickered, "It's what he does best, Sun. Gotta let a mech have his hobbies."

"Chief Engineer Wheeljack and Agent Bumblebee have not yet returned. He is concerned." Prowl shifted as Sunstreaker worked, prompting the yellow-gold twin to complain. The Praxian leaned against the wall, optics closed, and relaxed.

"They're not back yet?" Sunstreaker frowned at Prowl's still wings. He didn't know how he had gotten to be Prowl's only friend. "Any word at all from them?"

"Agent Bumblebee has managed to send some quick beacons. The last, Agent Mirage said, implied they had found something and would be returning to Iacon within a day or so."

"And the slag we got outta Praxus?"

"There is an experimental cruiser that may be untouched. Fortunately, it is deep in central Iacon. Given the way Iacon fell, the ship's survival is calculable at nearly sixty-eight percent likely. There are also three fuel storage sites that possibly escaped destruction in Praxus," Prowl said. His wings snapped once in agitation, before he continued, "Agent Mirage and Commander Jazz are going back out tomorrow to investigate the ship and the fuel. If the ship is at least repairable and one of the fuel sites still holds, then we can leave."

Sunstreaker closed his optics. In marginal relief, he put a hand between Prowl's waving wings. After a moment, he opened his optics to find Prowl looking over a lowered auxiliary panel at him. Sunstreaker felt it like a touch. His first thought was to lean in. His second slid towards panic.

Sideswipe growled from his crouch, "I wanna finish this. And I wanna go play penta with the living."

Sunstreaker kicked his brother, but Prowl looked down, wings quivering in quiet humor. Sunstreaker reminded himself that Prowl was his friend. The Praxian asked, "I am interrupting, then?"

"I don't wanna hit the common," Sunstreaker said, shrugging. "I'm gonna recharge."

"I see. I can finish cleaning myself. I do appreciate the assistance with my back, sensor panels, and legs." Prowl said. He held out his hand for Sunstreaker's brush and got lightly whapped for his trouble.

"I'm gonna finish. Si can go on. Bluestreak's callin', right?" Sunstreaker gave his brother a flat, amused look. Sideswipe scowled back. The youngest of the three remaining Praxians had matured centuries ago, but his one-time crush had turned into deep respect for Sideswipe. That didn't mean Sunstreaker didn't still tease his brother about it.

"I see," Prowl said carefully. Sunstreaker vented. And as Bluestreak had matured, friction had developed between the kid and Prowl. Sunstreaker honestly hoped Bluestreak let it go; he didn't want the young mech losing to the darkness. Cybertron had enough darkness. Prowl continued, "Sunstreaker, I know that he is your friend as well--"

"Shut up. I'm gonna clean you off. Then I'm gonna go eat and crash."

"As you wish," Prowl said as Sunstreaker grabbed an arm. Sideswipe straightened and grabbed the other arm, forcing Prowl to come out of his lean. Sunstreaker noticed his wobble and decided to ignore it. He ignored Sideswipe's mutters, too; his twin still didn't entirely like Prowl. Sunstreaker had only slightly more friends than Prowl did, though. Sideswipe had learned to cope.

After Sideswipe finished Prowl's right arm, Sunstreaker turned the Praxian around. Prowl obeyed his light shove and leaned against the wall. Sideswipe stepped back and cleaned the brush he had used while Sunstreaker dusted more solvent on Prowl's chest. Applying the brush, Sunstreaker spoke, "So ship and fuel? Be good to get off the rust ball."

Prowl looked at him. His wings scraped on the wall behind him. After a pause the Praxian finally rested his hand on Sunstreaker's, and the yellow twin stilled. "It is nice to have a chance to live. I had... I had feared that I spoke up too late."

"It wasn't a problem until the hanger at Polyhex got blown. We _had_ ships. We were leaving. And then we had to run here." Sunstreaker shifted his weight, and he made himself continue down Prowl's front. Sunstreaker felt his twin's wariness crawl between their half-selves. Pushing it back, Sunstreaker muttered, "Now you found us another chance. Stop wiggling, Prowl."

Sunstreaker only faintly wondered when it had become easy to touch Prowl. Erratic as the mech's mood swings were, Prowl was...safe. Comfortable. Sunstreaker hadn't _had_ a friend before the world started spinning apart, but he imagined this was how it felt. Comfortable.

The mech's hand fell away. Prowl vented, and Sunstreaker looked up. Leaning on the wall, optics closed and wings lowered to rest there more easily, Prowl looked ready to recharge right where he stood. Sunstreaker frowned to himself. He knew Prowl rarely rested under normal circumstances, but things in this army had never been normal. "You gonna recharge in your quarters, right?"

"I must attend--"

"--your slaggin' bed's what you gotta 'attend'," Sunstreaker said, lightly smacking Prowl's bumper with the brush. The Praxian jumped, optics gone wide, and stared down at Sunstreaker. The yellow twin liked getting past the AI's rigidity. Prowl's face could be so expressive, when the real personality showed. And damned funny. "Look, you can't keep this up, and you're the only officer I can stand."

"I am not going to extinguish from lack of rest," Prowl finally managed to say. As Sunstreaker raised the brush, Prowl's wings ground against the wall. Dropping low, the panels twitched, agitated, and Sunstreaker eyed them.

"I'm waiting. Don't fry anything," he muttered finally. Sunstreaker crouched, thinking to finish cleaning Prowl's front. The Praxian couldn't see well under his own bumper; none of them could.

"I am... Thrusters. You." Prowl's hand rested on his shoulder, then slid away.

Venting, Sunstreaker looked at Prowl's midsection. Uncomfortably, he didn't want to clean the last remaining thermal paint. Reminding himself again that Prowl was safe, that Prowl would never want _that_ , Sunstreaker forced his hands to work. He had applied the paint, after all. He could apply solvent and a brush now. "I'd say get 'charged, but there's no high grade left."

"You."

Sunstreaker cycled his optics. He still didn't always understand. "I'm gonna need more than that."

"Recharge. With." Prowl's hand returned, its grip entirely too strong. "Please."

Freezing, he narrowly resisted the impulse to smash Prowl's pelvis to scrap. Prowl didn't want that, he reminded himself. Prowl wanted a security blanket. Like Bluestreak's old mesh. Sunstreaker was the glitch's only friend. The run-in at Praxus had tripped the memory of Praxus' fall. And Sunstreaker had nearly gotten himself killed there. Prowl wanted reassurance.

Maybe the place was cursed.

"Fine. Your bed's softer than mine, anyway. But if you smack me in the head with a wing again..."

"Sun--" Sideswipe hissed behind him.

Sunstreaker looked back at Sideswipe, snorted, then went back to brushing the decomposed paint off Prowl's pelvis. "Prowl won't do nothin', Si. You know that."

"I value your brother's friendship, Warrior Sideswipe. And yours," Prowl said quietly. "The presence of a familiar biorhythm will help me remain in recharge."

Sideswipe glared at Prowl over Sunstreaker's head. Then he vented. "Right. An' I ain' cuddling you. We got rounds in the mornin', Sun, and Ratchet's gonna wanna talk to you."

"I'll set my alarm." Sunstreaker finished his brushing, straightened, and cleaned the tool. "Tell Blue I'm fine. He was ticked off when we came in."

"Ratchet said you looked a lot worse than you were. Hey, I'll see if 'Cep has any nanopaint. Or can make some."

Sunstreaker scowled down at the latest scars and grumbled, "Thanks."

Sideswipe stalked out, still annoyed, and Sunstreaker hesitated before looking at Prowl. The Praxian had pushed clear of the wall. Auxiliary panels resting low and close to his frame, Sunstreaker read the tense fear clearly. Awkwardly, he held out a hand. "C'mon. I can play a round or two of Quadrant before I pass out."

"I... I want to recharge."

"Okay. We'll play later. C'mon."

Prowl accepted his hands and squeezed gently. He let Sunstreaker go and turned to leave. Sunstreaker watched him walk a few steps before putting the brush on its shelf and following. Sometimes, he didn't understand Prowl.


	4. Castling

"Good evening," Mirage greeted Sideswipe brightly as the warrior approached. As often as mechs mocked his 'pretty manners', that ingrained behavior served its purpose. No one guessed how much he loathed his current situation. "And you've bathed. Bluestreak said he invited you both--"

"Yeah, Sun wanted the paint off. And then Prowl showed up, and Sun got his wires in a twist," Sideswipe complained. Then, waving his hand dismissively, he dropped into one of the free chairs at their table. "Hey there, Trigger. Deal me in? Oh, Merry, Prowl said you're goin' out with Jazz. You be careful, 'kay? We split up, but they ran into trouble. Still too many neighbors 'round here."

Mirage favored Sideswipe with an amused look. Between them, Bluestreak snickered, but the young mech dealt the warrior into their penta game. His wings canted aggressively as he commented in a happy chirp, "Scuttlebutt says they're starving. The rebels, I mean. Then it'll be over. And won't that be great? I just know it'll make it so much easier to fix everything--"

Catching Sideswipe's there-and-gone frown, the former noble swallowed his own pained vent. Mirage had made friends with the young Praxian because the twins had tolerated both their presences since the end of the world had thrown them all together. Sunstreaker, in fact, had been Mirage's first friend. But Bluestreak's anger, however understandable, at times seemed like an insurmountable pile of slag. Mirage had gotten good at distracting him, at least. "Bluestreak, did you still have those special treats? The ones that pretty fellow from Elita's squadron taught you to make? What was his name?"

"Huh? Oh, Moonracer. Did you know, Perceptor said they might be a really good replacement for standard rations? They taste awesome, and still have all the needed nutrients and stuff. Perceptor was really happy." Successfully turned from that subject, Bluestreak perked up. He could carry a whole conversation himself, and as tired as Sideswipe looked, Mirage was happy to let him. Bluestreak's wings fluttered into a happier position. He also dug out the last of his treats. "And solids are more stable than liquids, 'Cep said--"

Sideswipe favored Mirage with a bland look as he accepted the treats Bluestreak shoved at him. Mirage smiled faintly and fanned his cards. Sideswipe grinned and leaned back, stretching. Mirage admired the view. Waiting for Bluestreak to pause in his rambling, Mirage cut in, "So, where is Sunstreaker? Polishing himself lovely again?"

"Naw. He's putting Prowl to bed. Slagger was swaying on his pedes. And Sun said he was tired, too, so he was gonna get some more recharge himself." Sideswipe shook his head and dropped a match of cards after scooping the top card.

Mirage snorted. "Well, that should leave you free for an all night game."

"Doncha got a date with Jazz, Merry?" Sideswipe asked.

"Yeah, you said you couldn't stay all night," Bluestreak said. He snapped his cards together and used them to point at Mirage. "And I was wonderin' what I'd do, 'cause I'm having a rough day..."

"Yes, but Sideswipe is here. You've said before that he can run you ragged," Mirage replied, grinning at Sideswipe's melodramatic groan.

Bluestreak smacked him with his cards. Sideswipe laughed and made a playful grab for his hand. "Aw c'mon, Trigger. We'll play 'til Merry leaves, then we'll go pound some dummies in the practice hall. I got a couple of ration bars left over..."

"All right. I'll be happy with that," Bluestreak said with exaggerated regalness. "Now, face your doom at penta--"

And sometimes, just sometimes, Mirage's life wasn't so bad.

* * *

Wakefulness first brought the awareness of a heavy warmth on his back and a lump under his waist. As his processor continued to boot, he noted the bed under him was very soft, and he lay on his front, hugging a large, firm pillow with both arms. An arm not his own stretched under his abdomen. Sunstreaker peeled his optics open as he realized the rest of the mech fitted tightly around, and mostly over, his lower body.

Sunstreaker knew it was Prowl, and shut off his forced boot sequence to come up more naturally. Ratchet's comm frequency pinged him, and he ignored it to turn his head, carefully. He looked down his side at where Prowl had wrapped around him.

Optics shut, brow plate furrowed, arms loose but hands tight, legs tangled over his own, bumper awkwardly wedged over Sunstreaker's hip, and left wing waving a random pattern and the right pressed into the bed--Prowl never looked comfortable when he recharged. Not that he recharged like a normal mech, anyway. Prowl had to be _flattened_ , and he often still couldn't stay under more than an hour. Smothering an annoyed vent, Sunstreaker lowered his chin back to the pillow.

He didn't like how comfortable he felt like this.

Sunstreaker had done this with Bluestreak a time or twenty before the young mech had asserted his status as a grown up. Mirage, even, after near MIA missions and solemn promises to keep his hands to himself. Twice, Sunstreaker had let Ratchet hold him through uneasy recharge after Wheeljack had been injured in the field and had to remain in stasis for repairs; Ratchet didn't have faith in Hoist's skills. None of those had been _comfortable_ experiences. And Sunstreaker certainly hadn't rested himself.

This wasn't even the first time Sunstreaker had let Prowl wrap around him like this.

Turning onto his side, he propped himself up with the pillow and frowned at the top of Prowl's head. The Praxian stirred as Sunstreaker moved, but he resettled against the warrior's repair-marked chest plate. Over the last couple of millennia, Sunstreaker had begun to absorb Prowl's game strategies. Slowly. With each passing century, he averaged a couple more moves or hands per game.

Every bit a mech of habit, the processing network in Prowl's head still did not approach each game with the same opening moves. Even when they played Quadrant ten times in a row, Prowl used different gambits. He played Sunstreaker as much as the game. The calculated changes in play slowed Sunstreaker's improvement in games against Prowl, but still.

This was the first time Sunstreaker had recharged himself with anyone wrapped around him.

Sunstreaker realized he had been played. His memory cortex reminded him of countless, frequent touches. Light and quick at first, so he wouldn't go off, but ever-increasing in weight and duration. Soft promises and the subtle patterns of truth in bicolor wings, over and over. It had worked, too. Sunstreaker felt _comfortable_ here. And it really, really fragged him off.

Scowling at Prowl's head, he felt the urge to smack the mech. Sunstreaker didn't like to be tricked. Venting, he privately acknowledged he wouldn't have agreed if Prowl had asked. And that, maybe, in giving the glitch any opening, he _had_ agreed. He had known Prowl was frighteningly smart, and he had known the mech felt cut off and alone. Sunstreaker's gaze drifted to the ancient board game with its claw-marked purple pieces standing across from the red.

He had known the mech was more alone than most of the survivors.

Nearly an hour later, Prowl stirred while Sunstreaker glared at him. Optics brightening slowly, the Praxian looked up, and he smiled. Sunstreaker froze in surprise. Still smiling, fuzzy with recharge, the mech stretched, releasing his hold, and the warrior rolled off his pinned arm. Sunstreaker sat up and stared in bemusement. The new expression faded as Prowl's processor finished booting, and Sunstreaker frowned again.

"I gotta see Ratchet," he said after a pause. "Been fending him off in comm for over an hour now. You gonna play catch up with your file work? You should promote someone to Quartermaster, y'know, not be doin' it yourself."

"It is a task I am suited to doing, Sunstreaker," Prowl replied. His wings twitched twice, and Sunstreaker snorted at his humor. "But I must collect the tactics and strategy divisions for overdue planning with command. Plans must be in place for Commander Jazz and Agent Mirage's return. Also, Engineer Wheeljack and Agent Bumblebee are still en route. And there is the shuttle-transport shifter we ran into..."

"Huh. Fine. But if you fall over again, ain't my concern."

"I will take your warning under advisement," Prowl said. After Sunstreaker got to his pedes, the Praxian followed. He lifted a hand, hesitated under Sunstreaker's intense frown, then rested that hand on a bright shoulder. "Thank you."

Sunstreaker wanted to grumble and shove Prowl off, but he didn't. Smothering a growl, he nodded and walked toward the door to slide it open on the rail the engineers had installed on a precious few rooms. _Some_ mechs and rooms had been deemed worthy of privacy. Sunstreaker wished he had been one of them. Prowl followed, auxiliary panels fluttering with humor.

"When I have time, would you play penta with me?"

"Sure. If I have time. Haven't checked the roster."

"Of course. Thank you, Sunstreaker. I will see you later, then."

"Later." Sunstreaker stalked off down the corridor and pushed Prowl out of his thoughts. The mech confused him too much. Ratchet turned on him the second Sunstreaker walked into the medical suite, mouth open to yell. He cut the chief medical officer off with a hiss. "You _left_ me."

Ratchet snarled. "I got called in on that blasted high level meeting to work out how your shuttle mech was also a cargo hauler. You could have mentioned that, y'know."

"You left me alone. _And_ I was unconscious," Sunstreaker growled. He refused to be redirected. Taller than Ratchet, he knew damned well he did not intimidate the medic one bit. Ratchet had picked his aft up more than once, and he had seen Ratchet hold out in a drill fight against Ironhide. While watching two old mechs go at it wasn't Sunstreaker's idea of fun, it had been an education. On both mechs.

"You were fine," Ratchet muttered. He glared at Sunstreaker, then pretended to turn back to the datapad in his hand. "No one bothered you. Bluestreak sat outside until Sideswipe came in."

"Outside? Bluestreak sat outside? Alone?"

"I told him that he'd better not wake you. Mirage came and kept him company until your twin straggled in."

"Uh huh." Sunstreaker claimed one of Ratchet's precious rolling stools. Smirking up at Ratchet's scowl, Sunstreaker kicked himself closer to the medic. "You were commin' me, Ratchet."

"Must you act like a sparkling? You and Sideswipe both." Ratchet shook his head, obviously fighting a grin. The medic put a pede out to stop Sunstreaker's momentum, then hooked it in the structure to turn the warrior to face him. "Straighten up. I want to look at that broad chest."

Sunstreaker snorted and leaned back, allowing Ratchet to inspect his torso. The medic's warm hands traced the new scarring. The scanners tickled his senses, and Sunstreaker pulled a face at Ratchet. The medic arched a brow plate, then moved his hands to Sunstreaker's shoulder. Ratchet hummed thoughtfully. "Well, you're acting lively enough. Your brother put you to bed?"

"No. I put Prowl to bed." Sunstreaker shook his head. He eyed Ratchet, daring the medic to comment. "The shuttle freaked him out, on top of the trip."

"Huh."

Sunstreaker rotated his shoulder slowly. He ignored the disbelieving response as par for the course. He stayed where he was, though, because he knew Ratchet was going to need an audial. And Sideswipe couldn't stay serious long enough.

"Anything hurt or grind?"

"No. Feels fine. The welds held, too. Recharged on my front." He grinned at Ratchet's answering scowl. "With Prowl sprawled half across my back. He's nearly as heavy as you are."

Ratchet looked at him sharply, then he vented and allowed his annoyance to fade into a chuckle. He picked up his datapad again. The medic _knew_ how funny Sunstreaker could be. "All right. You shouldn't have done that, but I didn't read any stress. I'm going to let you slide this time. I cleared you from duty today, and put you on light tomorrow. Do _not_ pick up or throw any of the mini class."

Sunstreaker grunted at him, then leaned against the gurney Ratchet was using as an impromptu table. The medic tapped his thumb on the pad, muttering. Venting, "Ratchet?"

"Hmm?"

"You picked me an' Si _'cause_ you know. But..."

Ratchet patted his head, prompting a snarl. The medic vented. "I know a lot of things, Sun. You feeling all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Mirage left yet?"

"They left about three hours ago," Ratchet replied.

"Damn. Ah, well." Sunstreaker muttered, then eyed the medic closely. "Prowl said Wheels and Bumblebee were still out, too?"

Sunstreaker hesitated as Ratchet shifted uncomfortably. He put a hand on the medic's arm. Ratchet vented again. With a little shiver, he dropped the datapad and practically fell on Sunstreaker. "Yes. And they're late. I'm worried. I miss him."

This was what he got for making friends. Smothering a scowl, Sunstreaker returned Ratchet's hug from his awkward angle. Ratchet had been with Wheeljack since forever, as far as Sunstreaker knew. He could understand, even if he didn't like being the blanket. Maybe Bluestreak had his old one?

Venting, Sunstreaker managed to maneuver himself upright. Ratchet hugged him tighter for his trouble. Sunstreaker swallowed his annoyance and patted Ratchet's back until the medic pulled away. Ratchet rubbed his chevron and looked embarrassed. Sunstreaker ignored him to prod a visible repair. "No nanopaint."

Ratchet made a face. "It's low on Perceptor and Wheeljack's to-do list."

"But I'm ugly. I should not be ugly, Ratchet."

The medic snorted, but Sunstreaker did not smile. Ratchet prodded him with a finger to the chest, "If you'd quit throwing yourself at things that can tear you apart, you wouldn't need so much, Sunstreaker. Did anyone teach you the word 'caution'? No? Well, learn it, young mech. And don't you go pestering Perceptor for that slag."

Optics narrowing in a threatening expression, Sunstreaker barely swallowed his relief. An angry, flailing Ratchet gave way quickly to a laughing one, if he handled the medic right. "Now see here, I'm not 'throwing' myself anywhere--and I'm protecting your ungrateful aft!"

"Ungrateful? Ungrateful! Why you pompous _brat_! I oughtta--"

Anger/fear/hurt slammed into Sunstreaker, blanking his processor and swallowing him outward. He just barely felt his body fall against Ratchet before he ignored that body entirely.

The left arm, on his red body, suddenly screamed pain across the whole of himself. Shot off at above the elbow, he promptly threw up a block to silence the pain signals. Two airborne circled overhead to fire at the sniper's turret again.

He recognized them as seekers; Boomer and Jumper. They usually flew with the air commander Starscream, but he didn't see that rebel leader now. Below the smoking sniper's turret the red body looked out of, Wheeljack fought to control his spin on the bridge. Bumblebee had taken a hit across his alt mode aft. A snarling Bluestreak fought Wheeljack's special snub barrel cannon around to bear.

They needed a distraction, to take the seekers' attention off the turret. Down an arm, and he only had flares, but he could definitely distract the fliers. Ratchet was going to be fragged off, he decided. And this was going to hurt.

Swinging his launcher forward, he fired a flare at the far seeker and jumped. He kicked on this frame's jet pack. Aiming himself over Wheeljack and Bumblebee's forms below them to tackle the nearer seeker. He crashed into Boomer and grabbed the seeker's wing with his remaining hand and both legs wrapped around the seeker's nose cone. Shutting down his audials in preparation, he cut the jet pack off. His weight on the mech's front end dragged the seeker down.

Six seconds to impact.

He felt the shock wave from the snub barrel cannon. A flare of light came from Jumper's direction, and his comm crackled with Bluestreak's voice, [Si!]

Two seconds to impact. He set the jet pack to full burn and released Boomer. He kicked at the damaged seeker and aimed his clumsy flight path down the open maw of the fort's primary gate. Wheeljack and Bumblebee were already inside. He saw Bluestreak raise his rifle for one final shot as he shot passed.

Curling up for impact, he cut the jet pack. He crashed into the floor, yelping and rolling fast. He lost consciousness in the roll, hitting his head. A kaleidoscope of light followed him under.

Light, cool hands pressed against his face as he came around again. He looked up at the medical suite ceiling from a gurney. Prowl sat on the gurney's edge with his auxiliary panels hung low behind him. He brushed Sunstreaker's face again. "Are you awake?"

"Chronometer says I wasn' out lon'," Sunstreaker croaked. Prowl moved that hand to his chest when he tried to sit up.

"Stop. A half hour is long enough. Do you know...?" Prowl frowned thoughtfully down at him. Bemused by the rare expression, Sunstreaker cycled his optics. Then he remembered. Frowning back, Sunstreaker debated what to explain. Sadly, Prowl wasn't stupid.

"Yeah," he muttered finally. "I know what happened. Up to him passing out."

"Is this an extension of your communicative abilities?"

"Good a way to put it as any."

Prowl tilted his head, studying him. Sunstreaker shifted, uneasy beneath the scrutiny, and shoved Prowl's hand off his chest. Prowl let him sit up, this time. Bicolor wings swayed back and forth, then lifted up and out. Sunstreaker frowned while he tried to put together what that position meant. Understanding, he decided. And relief in the wings' slow fall to the neutral position.

"Sunstreaker," the Praxian said, enunciating the yellow twin's name with care, "Officer Ratchet is attending to your brother's injuries. Engineer Wheeljack is uninjured and assisting Agent Bumblebee. Warrior Sideswipe's injuries are the worst. A missile hit the turret."

Sunstreaker looked at Prowl sidelong for the stress on his name. He decided to ignore it. Even though Prowl knew, it didn't mean he understood. Not completely. They were freaks.

"Officer Ratchet commed me after Warrior Bluestreak sounded the alarm--to tell me that you had lost consciousness. The seekers had turned by the time I arrived at the gate, so I helped bring your brother here," Prowl supplied as Sunstreaker stood up. He got to his own pedes and placed a light hand on Sunstreaker's arm. "The seeker we call Boomer was badly injured, and the one we call Jumper as well. They have fewer supplies than we do. We can hope one or both are not repairable."

"Yeah. Wheeljack okay?"

"Yes. He is fine. He is in the secondary operating theater, with Bumblebee."

Sunstreaker rubbed his head and glanced in the direction he felt Sideswipe. "I never did get a cube..."

"You did not? Will you come with me, then? Officer Ratchet will comm me when Sideswipe is repaired."

Scowling down at Prowl, he tried to think of why he should stay. He didn't want to leave his other half behind. But he did no good here. Eventually, he snarled, "Fine."

"If you will follow me, then." Prowl murmured, optics bright. Sunstreaker eyed him. Prowl rested a light hand on the warrior's arm again, this time with a light tug. "Come along. You should not forget to fuel."

* * *

"Soundwave? How are they?"

The host did not turn away from the transparent curtain protecting the operating room. Ravage grunted, pressing hard into Soundwave's leg. Rumble looked up from the floor beside the wall. "Thunder's wing's torn up. And they cracked his fuselage. Sky's all busted up in the middle. Still dunno what the pair they were chasin' were after."

"Most likely fuel," Megatron said dismissively. "We're all starving, even them. Has Hook given you a prognosis?"

"Repairs feasible," Soundwave said softly. "For both. Recovery time, extensive."

"They will be all right, then? Good." Megatron rested a hand on Soundwave's shoulder. The host looked up at his leader, and leaned in as an arm slid comfortingly around him. "The ship's building goes well. We have enough fuel now--Mixmaster is a genius. We will escape, Soundwave. We will."


	5. Interwoven

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

Calm, collected, and cold as the dead world around them, Prowl stood in front of Ratchet's desk, wings a-waggling. Ratchet narrowed his optics and leaned back in his desk chair. 

"Now that you have completed your emergency care, I wish to see how Sideswipe is faring," Prowl replied. "And he is unconscious."

Personal tension mounting, Ratchet looked down at his datapad. He didn't want to deal with Prowl. Ratchet had never wanted to deal with Prowl. He reminded Ratchet uncomfortably of his true origin. Ratchet could so easily have been just like Prowl. Or, worse and more common, extinguished as so many glitches ended up. Ratchet hid his wince. He had come into this world in much the same way, after all. An experiment, a directed Calling. But Prowl was...broken. And Ratchet wasn't.

That constant reminder of his own creators' motives wore at him. And it irked him further that he took his irritation with that out on Prowl. And even that dolt Ironhide had asked why. Ratchet empathized. He did. It was painful to realize one hadn't been called for want or need but to be used. To realize he could have been made less real. If Ratchet had been less lucky, he might have been Prowl.

And Prowl's very presence stood as a reminder.

"He'll be fine," Ratchet snapped. "After Wheeljack's asinine cannon blew up on both twins during testing, I started making spare hands. I just have to add a forearm, and some of Sideswipe's is actually salvageable. He's resting through a medical defrag cycle. If you remember, he hit his head pretty hard. Now unless you have a _personal_ emergency, can you please leave my office?"

Auxiliary panels snapped up sharply, and Ratchet wished Sunstreaker could be talked into making a damned chart to explain the waving and the angles. He knew what the yellow fragger would say, though. That no one had helped _him_ , so why should he help them?

"Of course. Good day, Officer Ratchet," the glitch murmured. His flat, even tone grated over the medic's processor, but the mech turned and glided out of the medical office without another word.

Ratchet's anxiety took longer to disappear. Just _looking_ at Prowl's blank face twisted him up. Adding that unreal lack of...of _anything_ in Prowl's voice, it felt like talking to a drone made to look like a mech.

Ratchet knew better. And but for better luck, he could have been the same.

* * *

"Sunstreaker! Wait up, mech!" A black blur jogged up from the hall on his left. Sunstreaker jerked in surprise and sidled sideways, until his processor made sense of his optics. Trailbreaker caught up to him, by that time. His wide grin spread even wider. "Hey, fella. Heard Sideswipe got tapped yesterday mornin'. How's he doin'? You look like scrap, y'know. All beat up."

"Fragger. No one's got time to make nanopaint, and the idiot rebels destroyed my stockpile," Sunstreaker hissed. He shoved Trailbreaker's shoulder, but as usual, the heavy mech barely moved. Growling, Sunstreaker resumed stalking down the corridor with Trailbreaker settling in beside him. Waking in Prowl's quarters ( _again_ ), this time alone (small mercy), Sunstreaker still felt exhausted. And after his light duty shift, he only wanted a scrub, a ration, and his own bed, in that order. "Side's left arm's blown, and he banged his head good. He jumped on a seeker, so I figure he made out all right."

"You two are loose nuts," Trailbreaker chuckled. "He's stuck with Ratchet then, huh? I'll visit him later. Bluestreak was on duty with him, right? Kid manage to shoot the rebel down?"

"No. Prowl said he did a number on the seeker, though. Ratchet's supposed to release Sideswipe to medical leave, since he'll be mobile after his head's been settled. Try my quarters. Tomorrow, maybe."

"Okay, good. Sounds like a plan, then? My shift's here, so my stop," Trailbreaker said, stopping. He stabbed his thumb down the command hall. Then he pulled a small canister from his subspace and grinned gleefully at Sunstreaker. "I been stashing this for a while, by the way. For _my_ scars an' hopefully a big date..."

Sunstreaker glanced at the canister . The bright, silvery contents winked at him. Craving lit his mind, and the anxiety Sunstreaker had been fighting since the last batch of nanopaint had been used up hit hard. Covering his need with avarice, Sunstreaker whined and snatched at it, "Where in Primus' name did you get nanopaint? Gimme! Slaggin' Ratchet's gonna leave me ugly. Gimme!"

Trailbreaker snickered, snatching the canister back, he took a half step closer. Sunstreaker drew himself up and looked down at the broader, heavier mech. Laughing, Trailbreaker held out the canister until Sunstreaker took it warily. "Could gimme that big date. To say thanks, y'know."

"Mech, you're lucky I _talk_ to you. Ain't fragging you." Sunstreaker snorted as he pocketed the mixture into his own subspace. Like Mirage, Trailbreaker liked to flirt, and, over time, Sunstreaker had come to believe they wouldn't push their luck. He still didn't like it, but he had learned how to shrug it off. At least it wasn't a horrific fault. "Don't be putting yourself in _my_ class like you're worthy."

Laughing, Trailbreaker slapped him on the back, rocking him on his pedes. "That's the spirit, mech. Catch you later, aigh'?"

Pointedly scowling, Sunstreaker watched Trailbreaker walk off before heading on his way. He knew from Sideswipe's pained humor, that Ratchet was occupied. Wheeljack's comm posted him in a meeting, so that let the engineer out of helping Sunstreaker. Prowl would be any meeting that was going on, too. That left Sunstreaker one option for getting the nanopaint applied today.

Groaning to himself, he debated waiting. Bluestreak still talked too much, and the kid hadn't gotten all that much better at it. Sunstreaker's ego accepted Bluestreak as safe, though, and he had a very steady hand. Reluctantly, Sunstreaker pinged the kid's comm.

Over the comm, Bluestreak agreed to meet him at the cleaning station and offered to bring an extra ration along from the mess hall. Sunstreaker faltered, glaring up and down the corridors at the tired mechs moving around him. Accepting would get him off his pedes sooner. And Bluestreak was safe. Reluctantly, he accepted Bluestreak's offer.

When Bluestreak found him, grinning, the young Praxian grabbed a brush to help Sunstreaker finish brushing the dirt and dry solvent from his frame. "Hiya there. You do look really tired, y'know? That was nice of 'Breaker, wasn't it? And smart, too, to save some, and give it to you. Here, lemme get your back, 'kay? Oh, here's the ration. You should drink it. Now lemme..."

Sunstreaker made a face at the bottle. He didn't miss the cubes so much as what the cubes meant in terms of their situation. Bottles, jars, and cups all took up space. And someone had to clean them, because they couldn't afford to power the cube generator or a washing machine and the tools that helped Ratchet work.

It took less to power a mech.

As much as Sunstreaker preferred actual dishware and utensils over utilitarian force cubes, he no longer wanted to be stuck cleaning them. And these stark bottles weren't the lovely dinnerware he and Sideswipe had once owned. Still, he took the bottle, and he twisted the top off. Sunstreaker took a deep swallow of barely palatable energon while Bluestreak got behind him. Bluestreak scrubbed cleaner into and then back out of plating and crevices of his back easily. Sometimes, Sunstreaker wondered if the kid might have been an artist in another life. He really had steady, agile hands.

Sunstreaker didn't listen as Bluestreak rambled; if Bluestreak wanted someone to listen to him, he started calling names. So Sunstreaker drank his meal and stared blindly the door, thinking about Sideswipe and Prowl. After a moment, he closed the bottle and put it on the shelf with the dry solvent and added the canister of nanopaint. Sunstreaker applied himself to finishing his frame. Nanopaint required as clean a surface as possible.

Sunstreaker couldn't stand the sight of his scars; they _reminded_ him. He wanted this single canister to go on perfectly. Who knew when the next batch could be made? If it got made. And Sunstreaker had a lot of scars.

"Wow. Nanopaint? Vain fragger. Can't wear your scars like the rest of us, huh? Where'd you get that, anyway? Steal it from the doc?"

Behind him, Bluestreak mantled. Sunstreaker turned down his audials and ignored the new arrivals to the cleaning station. They always talked. Sunstreaker patted the kid's hand, making him refocus on helping Sunstreaker not look like a wreck. On not feeling like Bluestreak or Prowl or any of the others that had decided to be Sunstreaker's friend were waiting for their turn. Fixed up, he wouldn't bleed on them, if they...

But the thrill would be there, because of the scars, the handlers had said. All it needed was the slag the masters had put in their fuel. In the pens.

Bluestreak began to chat again, taking Sunstreaker's cue in ignoring the hecklers; none had the bearings to tackle Sunstreaker, even without Sideswipe to back him up. Like Sideswipe or Prowl, the kid always did a good job helping. The young mech took the canister off the shelf after swiping off the last of the dry solvent. Typical of its kind, the canister lid held a built-in brush.

Dimly, he knew the hecklers had stopped, and Sunstreaker dialed his audials back up. He liked their quiet even less than he liked hearing their insults. Putting one hand on Bluestreak's arm to stop him and the other hand on the ration bottle, he smirked, "Come on. Let's leave the place to the less gorgeous, huh? Sideswipe found somethin' cool on his way home..."

The hecklers' snide comments followed him out, and Bluestreak growled his anxiety across every babbled word. But he followed Sunstreaker back to the warrior's quarters. Inside, Sunstreaker let Bluestreak nudge him toward the stool he kept for visitors. "Sit? I know you gotta be tired, and Si kept me from even getting a bad scratch. Lemme just..."

Bluestreak crouched in front of Sunstreaker, scowling intensely as he chattered. The rambling monologue never stopped until Bluestreak had a rifle in his hands. The weapons had become his security blankets. Bluestreak's hand moved slow and even with the brush, and the kid carefully never touched the nanopaint himself. It confused the simple machines to touch the biofeedback of multiple mechs. Sunstreaker did _not_ want to have color bleed.

If he answered honestly, Sunstreaker didn't find the chatter as annoying as he had, once upon a time. Bluestreak really was a good friend. And Bluestreak's silence was Sunstreaker's scars.

Bluestreak worked his way up Sunstreaker's chassis and around to the back. Sunstreaker stood up, at the end, to let the young Praxian get to the last weld scar along his inner back thigh. Bluestreak's remained steady and light with the brush, and the kid didn't complain about Sunstreaker twisting around to watch. He never had.

"There you are--is there any left for me? Oh please, bright Primus--" Sideswipe shuffled himself inside, dramatically in light of his injuries, and sat his aft on Sunstreaker's bed.

"You're out early!" Bluestreak yipped, grinning.

Sunstreaker rumbled, "My leg!"

"Oh, it's not like anyone sees it. You don't ever 'face anyone, and if no one sees it, what's the big deal? I know, I know-- _you'll_ know, I didn't smear it, so quit glaring." Bluestreak laughed up at Sunstreaker, but he bent to finish covering that last visible scar.

"Yeah, 'm'out. Ratchet wants to play with Wheeljack, an' i ain't invited. Perceptor says he's got the material for a small batch, for my new arm, but there won't be any for the rest of me...?"

"'Breaker gave me a whole canister , wherever in the Pit he got it from, I dunno. Put it to better use than on his plate by givin' it to me, though," Sunstreaker said, waving a dismissive hand. Sideswipe grinned and Bluestreak laughed.

"There's enough for you, Si. I got good at applying it," Bluestreak began as he finished Sunstreaker's leg, "when we had the stock. I'll do you, if you want. After you got two arms again. I know Sun does a better job, but I'd like to thank you..."

Sunstreaker tuned Bluestreak out while Sideswipe entertained the young mech; his brother was so much better at it than him. That left him to watch his natural color creep across the nanopaint. He waited, impatient, for the quick flash of heat across his frame as the tiny machines began to bond to his plating and die off. While he thought it unsettling that any dead machines retained their color, he still vented in relief when the heat faded.

If his grey shell had bright yellow scars across it, so be it. As long as he didn't feel like a target while alive.

He mentally rejoined the conversation going on in his quarters irritably. Sideswipe looked ready to fall out, but he had coaxed Bluestreak onto the bed beside him. Sunstreaker vented; he dreaded the need to cuddle again tonight.

"And then Prime popped Eli on the aft and said that he could stop being sassy--"

"Does Eli even _know_ how to be anything but sassy? I mean, he's all professional enough on duty, but off..." Sideswipe chuckled. He patted Bluestreak's side and held the kid tighter. Then he looked at Sunstreaker, a wry smirk spread across his face.

Sunstreaker vented and sat on Bluestreak's other side. The kid lifted his auxiliary panels, cycled his optics, then yipped as both twins settled around him. "Hey, oh--wait."

"Shh. Recharge time. We're tired. You gotta be, too. And you've said we're both loud enough, even 'chargin', to let you shut down, too. I know Blaster's been in those all night meetings."

Bluestreak bit his lip. "Yeah. And he's needed the cassettes, so I haven't even had them to make noise."

"Then settle in. We're gonna recharge," Sunstreaker said bluntly.

Sideswipe snickered, but patted Bluestreak's side again. "C'mon. Rest up. Never know what's gonna happen tomorrow, right?"

Bluestreak hesitated and dropped his head against Sideswipe, just over his chest. His wings lowered to rest on Sunstreaker's arms as the other twin settled in at his back. Sunstreaker wouldn't recharge until Sideswipe woke as long as Bluestreak was here, but he could get as close as he dared. And they could all rest a while.

* * *

[ Ah, ] Wheeljack commed Prime, [ Meeting needs to end, sir. ]

Optimus Prime glanced sidelong at him. He followed Wheeljack's gaze to Prowl. His optics focused on the quivering tips of the mech's auxiliary panels. Unlike his young partner, Wheeljack had given some thought to studying Prowl's multitude of nonverbal cues. Mostly the ones that spared everyone a scene.

Take now, Wheeljack thought to himself. Prowl could remain calm for hours under an onslaught of data. His processor sorted, factored, broke down, and filtered things rapidly. He could sit through endless meetings to share, collate, and disseminate that same data.

_Until_.

Unlike Sunstreaker, Wheeljack hadn't bothered to make a virtual three dimensional map and plot out the meaning of nearly every angle of those flitty wings. But he _had_ identified when Prowl was about to have one of his fits.

Usually these fits weren't a problem, per se. Prowl would freeze, stare blank-faced at the 'offender', and _not move_ for nearly an hour. He wouldn't look at or acknowledge anything during these little spells. For a while, when Sunstreaker had seemed like an answer, they had called him.

Sunstreaker had sat his aft on Prowl's desk and just waited, tapping his fingers against the desk's surface. Sunstreaker's presence had shortened the spells some, and Prowl had emerged better tempered. But it hadn't immediately ended them.

Now, they just waited Prowl out, temper and all.

But the other type of fit came on slowly, compared to the rapid shutdown. A mech's only clue that it was coming, was a tic of Prowl's wings. As it got faster, the closer it came. Thing of it was, Wheeljack mused, a mech couldn't tell what set Prowl off. The Praxian was fine. Until he wasn't.

Those fits blew out like a massive storm, and Prowl had injured himself in the midst of them. He had hurt others, when they had stupidly tried to restrain him. Sunstreaker had told them to just let the mech work it out, if they couldn't be smart enough to leave Prowl alone before it happened.

Wheeljack had quickly developed an algorithm based on the depth and speed of Prowl's wing movements to spot the aggressive fits before one happened. He had _been_ one of the first injured.

And he liked Prowl. He did. Felt sorry for the mech, like he did for anyone alive in this end-of-times war. And, also, just for Prowl himself. The mech took his responsibilities very seriously, and so obviously cared deeply for his few friends, even if he had a devil of a time showing it. That Prowl didn't want Wheeljack's friendship hadn't bothered him--Wheeljack knew what Praxus had done.

[ Boss? ] Wheeljack commed Prime again. The wing-tic had reached critical by his calculations.

"Enough," Optimus Prime said, cutting over Elita's dialogue with Smokescreen and Perceptor. "My head hurts. Meeting adjourned. We'll take this up again after a meal and recharge."

Elita's brow plates arched high, but Ironhide's tank chose that moment to gurgle loudly. Everyone laughed, except Prowl, and the tension eased. Except Prowl.

Elita teased Ironhide, and Wheeljack counted seconds as Prowl's wings beat ever so slightly faster. He stood up, hoping someone else followed. Optimus watched with him, but the others began to move. The Praxian got to his pedes, and he filed into the corridor like everyone else. Wheeljack kept an optic on the mech's flicking wings all the way to the mess lest disaster strike. Sunstreaker and the injured Sideswipe sat in a far corner. Finally, Prowl's wings broke their tic pattern.

Wings lifting high and swinging backward, Prowl walked straight for them. Wheeljack vented in relief. Sunstreaker somehow always managed to bring Prowl down. And all they ever did was play games. Over and over. Wheeljack didn't get how it worked. But, really, he knew it didn't matter if he got it.

It only mattered that it worked.


	6. Changing Plans

Thundercracker came online again with Ravage's head across the system fans on the right side of his chest, staring up at him. Rumble draped across an arm and the quadruped. Frenzy curled up under the opposite arm. The seeker didn't have a clue how they balanced on the medical berth with him.

"Thunder, awake now?"

He turned his head to give Soundwave a weak smile. "Unless I've slipped into the Well."

"No," Soundwave replied. He leaned over the tall berth. He slipped his fingers beneath the protrusions of his head, stroking Thundercracker's jawline. "Ship ready soon. Starscream, Shockwave successful."

Thundercracker vented and pressed his face into Soundwave's hand. "Still gonna pick on Star."

"Acceptable."

Thundercracker managed a low chuckle, then moved the arm under Frenzy to Soundwave. The host clasped it tightly, and the seeker smiled. "So, we're gettin' off this tomb?"

"Yes. When fuel production is complete."

"Good. And then..."

"We build a better world."

* * *

Jazz hummed softly while his fingers worked the door controls. His sensor suite caught nothing living but Mirage anywhere within range to hear him. His builder had sung for a living and sung to Jazz to quiet him growing up. He supposed he wasn't better than Bluestreak; the quiet drove him to make noise, too. But everyone loved music. He and Blaster had performed, occasionally, before they had run out of the supplies for any kind of fun things.

He rather admired Prime's insistence on having happy moments for everyone. Prime still wanted this war to end, and he wanted them capable of peace. Jazz had his doubts that peace would come. Megatron wanted their rusting shells for garden statuary. But the balance of honest festivities had kept hope going. Before that last group had gotten away and Megatron had destroyed their base with the one remaining ship.

Days later, Prowl had come forward with his plan. Jazz grinned to himself. Glitch didn't want his pet to die here, and he had faced his nightmares for that purpose.

Jazz could admire that, too, and it worked for his plans.

Mirage's hand rested on his shoulder as he finally got the door powered open. Mirage lifted his hand and murmured, "Excellent work, sir. Do you think this cache will be like the first?"

"I dunno, mech. Way it's lookin', the rebels never came this far in. Saw the same slag on our info run. Don't quite make sense, my frien'," Jazz replied as they pushed the door completely open, "'cause Shockwave hadda know what those disruption bombs did. My only guess is the ol' Bucket doesn't wanna face what they did here."

"This was genocide," Mirage said softly.

"Yeah." The conversation walked on old, familiar ground, but it quieted the echoes of the dead. If Jazz believed in ghosts, he might have thought it appeased their cold sparks to hear the still-pulsing acknowledge them. Either way, the sound soothed his unease. "Just be glad the ones we got survived this slag. They been the hand of Primus."

"They certainly have. All right, down the left," Mirage said. He led the way down the corridor. His optics skimmed as he read the map he had downloaded. "We are going to have to lead a team back, aren't we? If any of these sites have viable fuel, that is."

"You just now askin'?" Jazz laughed. "Yeah. This's a 'risk assessment' trip."

"I asked more for the lilting beauty of your voice, sir, than I required your opinion. Right here."

"Flatterer," Jazz smirked. He knew what Mirage meant. Walking down the silent, dark corridors, the banter pushed back against the weight of Praxus around them. "We'll be leadin' haulers, yeah. We gotta have fuel, t' fly a ship. You wanna fly a ship, don't ya?"

"I know we need fuel. This...really isn't a fool's errand, is it? I mean, you believe...? That we'll fly away and leave the dead behind?"

"By Prowl's data, yeah. We'll find a new home, Mirage. Tighten your bolts. Be first time in my life a Prime's kept his word," Jazz said aa they finally arrived at their target. He set to work on it and cursed the need to waste any power on the damn things.

"Sir... Jazz."

Looking up from his crouch in front of the door, Jazz took in Mirage's pinched expression. He grinned. "You're one a mine, mech. You know me. An' maybe you get t' be a noble again, but you'll see this 'fore it comes. You'd fight. You won't let this happen again."

Because Jazz would make sure it didn't. If that meant separating Prime from his spark...

"No," Mirage said softly. "I won't allow this again." He gasped as the air hissed when Jazz cracked the door. "Jazz!"

"Primus! It was sealed!" Jazz pushed the door open. The fuel glittered back at them from the transparent tank. "Get the kit. If this place sealed--"

Mirage had already reached for the scaffolding. For the first time in a century hope sang through Jazz's processor. Quickly running through hose adapters, Mirage tightened the fitting in place and hooked up the tester. "Sir, if this _is_ good--"

"We go back an' get a hauler. That'll mean a fight, most likely, but this'll get that ship off." Jazz grinned and leaned over the top of the ladder. "Ship looked pretty good, didn't it? Tolja we'd be all right."

The machine in Mirage's hands beeped a soothing tone unlike the squawk it had produced for the first tank they had found.

"Better pack then, huh? Merry, we're goin' on a one-way trip."

* * *

Sunstreaker skulked in an abandoned section of what passed for the loyalist base camp. Bluestreak called him crazy for going off alone like this, but the commons had been overrun by the impromptu party Jazz and Mirage's return had heralded.

Mirage calculated enough that Optimus had cautiously allowed the compressed fuel cells the pair had brought back to be converted into high grade. Wheeljack crowed happily, Ratchet had rubbed his hands together with an evil smirk, and Blaster had disappeared with Bluestreak to plan.

Sunstreaker wandered through what must have been a satellite common area. Once. When the fort had housed the five thousand it had been designed for. He set his lantern and his canister of mid grade energon on a table and looked at his own shadows marching on the decaying walls.

Pulling back one of the chairs, he reclaimed the rod he had left here, leaving the thick, soft mat he stored here on its own chair. Tied off with discarded rags at one end, Sunstreaker used to rod to clean. He had found the once precious, off world fabrics over several scavenging trips. Frail and weak, they still served to wipe the dust from the table and the chairs. Sunstreaker cleared a wide stretch of floor, too. Habit had him put the rod back.

The official plan put their launch date within months. Wheeljack, Perceptor, and some architect type would repair the ship. And then Cybertron could rust in peace, for all Sunstreaker would care.

Looking back at the shadows, Sunstreaker hesitated. He reached through the darkness toward the dark shape. It reached back, in his imagination, and the urge to create, to record the dream, rolled inside his circuits. Optics shut, he made a face, then he purposefully stretched cables and limbs. He focused on evening out his ventilation system.

One kind of peace followed Sunstreaker from his darkest days in the slave pens of Kaon.

Moving to the cleared space in the middle, Sunstreaker rolled his shoulders, shaking his fears and concerns out of his thoughts. Stepping one pede back, his body lowered and his hands came up. His body rested in the ready position for a moment while Sunstreaker emptied his mind of lights as well as shadows.

Clear and quiet, Sunstreaker counted down.

At the last count, he punched forward, pedes stepping quickly over the still dusty floor. He threw his other fist forward, and the second after he danced back on his pedes. Their function forgotten in the simple joy of the forms, Sunstreaker fought his shadow only to have an opponent. Wasteful of his own energy as it was, this would get Sunstreaker into a peaceful recharge tonight.

His nerves and the free-flowing high grade kept him awake during these parties, now that he had a curtain instead of a locking door. Once, mechs had touched him hopefully. Most had been easy to intimidate away, but one or two had left him...uneasy.

That tall green one had shipped out with an early group to escape Cybertron. What had been his name? Sunstreaker didn't remember. But the loudmouth flier remained with them on Cybertron. He possessed as big an attitude as Sunstreaker in about half the packaging; mech was _short_. And the mech's aggressive hands on approach to flirting still rattled Sunstreaker.

Sideswipe would be fragging someone through their bunk tonight, so he could stay down here alone and enjoy himself. Then he could flop on the mat until morning. A night of peace ought to hold him until they landed wherever they went.

His fist slammed into a palm, halting his forward movement, and he was twisted to the side. Snapping his optics back online, Sunstreaker grabbed Prowl's shoulders to stay on his pedes. He snarled and shoved the mech clear. Peevishly, he kicked at Prowl's pedes. The Praxian sidestepped quickly, then mirrored Sunstreaker's ready pose.

White fingers curled in a slow, taunting wave at Sunstreaker. Bicolor auxiliary panels _wiggled_.

Denta bared at the audacity, Sunstreaker pressed forward. With proper maintenance, Prowl lived up to that damned name, and it never failed to frag Sunstreaker off every time Prowl snuck up on him.

Still, if Prowl wanted to play...

Stronger and better built, Prowl beat Sunstreaker for stamina as much as he did for sheer intelligence. But Sunstreaker had more practical combat experience, and he knew Prowl. Ticks and weaknesses. Sunstreaker aimed for those fluttery wings and followed with a pede to the mech's overbalanced knees.

Prowl snapped his wings down and twisted to the side. Sunstreaker spun quickly, dropping into another low kick that caught Prowl's ankle.

The Praxian folded. Catching himself on a hand, Prowl threw himself across the floor at Sunstreaker.

Slamming onto his back with a pained grunt, Sunstreaker grabbed Prowl's shoulders. His locked elbows arrested Prowl's momentum as the Praxian straddled him. The locked hold also kept the mech from twisting down on him.

Sunstreaker caught his left pede in a rut on the old floor, then twisted on his aft. Yanking his right leg up under him next, he found the leverage to flip them both over. Prowl's turn to grunt in pain as Sunstreaker landed on top of him.

Moving quickly, Sunstreaker grabbed Prowl's hands and pinned them to the ground. And froze.

Prowl looked up at him, venting hard, and...waited.

Sunstreaker had used that particular move more than once to halt a mech, when he had been held down with a mech's hips between his legs. When Sunstreaker hadn't been drugged into wanting them. The move got a mech away from the situation fast.

Straddling him, Prowl hadn't tried to break the hold and pin Sunstreaker's hands. He had _let_ Sunstreaker flip them. Prowl continued to watch him. Just waiting. Stuck behind his back, high and flat to the floor, those auxiliary panels stayed still. Sunstreaker replayed just over two millennia of Prowl touching him, and the tired smile he had woken with the other day.

Without letting his processor think beyond that, Sunstreaker shifted his weight from his hands back to his elbows. Prowl remained still and patient while Sunstreaker bent down. Soft lips parted beneath Sunstreaker's awkward kiss.

He knew how to do it better. His owners had complimented him enough, he knew he could be good at it. Pulling back, just enough to meet bright, bright optics, Sunstreaker felt a slow panic building. Each heavy pulse of his spark threatened to spill heat out of his lines.

And Prowl just watched him. Still as every shell in Praxus, but he burned as hot as Sunstreaker felt with life. Sunstreaker bent down, cooling system straining, and kissed Prowl again.

Finally, Prowl shifted under him, fitting his lumpy chassis at an angle that broke their kiss. Sunstreaker felt Prowl's lower half brush against his own. Heat pooled between them and magnified. Everyone told him how beautiful he was. How much they wanted to frag him.

Shaking, Sunstreaker shoved himself off Prowl and scrambled away. He landed on his aft, hugging his own shoulders. Later, he would deny whining in fear. He welcomed Sideswipe's angry presence across their bond even as he pushed at his brother to keep Sideswipe away. Prowl picked himself up off the floor, and Sunstreaker felt cool hands rest on his arms. They slid down to wrap around him.

Shutting his optics off, Sunstreaker turned into the embrace. Prowl's voice flowed over him, soft and indecipherable. It soothed his jangled mind as much as the light blending with Sideswipe. Prowl waited with his uncanny calm and endless patience until Sunstreaker stopped shaking quite so hard.

Sunstreaker nudged Sideswipe's half of himself back and pulled away from Prowl's hold. The Praxian allowed him to sit up but lifted a hand to stroke Sunstreaker's farings. Sunstreaker forced the twist of panic down with a scowl, and Prowl lowered his hand.

"I will get your energon," Prowl murmured. Sunstreaker let him stand and walk away. Grateful for the chance to better pull himself together, Sunstreaker vented softly, watching every economical movement. When Prowl returned with the canister, Sunstreaker accepted it with only a small tremor in his hands. Prowl crouched in front of Sunstreaker and spoke in his flattest tone of voice, "I am sorry I startled you. I did not mean--"

"Shut it. You've been trying to bring me around since I told you I saw you. Maybe right at first you didn't mean _this_ , but you mean it now," Sunstreaker snapped. Wings flicked down hard and pressed in tight to Prowl's torso. They clattered. Optics narrowing, Sunstreaker growled, "Stop that. I'm not gonna start ignoring you 'cause I kissed you."

"Please," Prowl whispered, voice strangled. Sunstreaker eyed the hands the mech lifted, shuddered hard enough to clatter, but he caught one. "Sun--"

"Gonna burn somethin' out," Sunstreaker muttered. "Stop pushin'. I'm _fine_."

"I did not mean to frighten you," Prowl said instead. The Praxian stroked a thumb over his hand. "That is the truth."

"I'm not frightened!" Sunstreaker snarled. He ignored the niggling voice that reminded him that his half-spark still pulsed painfully in its chamber and his plating rattled faintly. That unrepentant corner of his processor also pointed out that he wasn't scared of Prowl. He was scared of himself, because his core temperature remained high and his cooling system still strained.

Prowl hadn't pulled Sunstreaker's head down for that kiss, after all. Sunstreaker had held the mech down and done it himself. He looked at Prowl, and he thought about doing it again.

He knew how to do it much better than he had.

Sunstreaker closed his optics, just to block out the thought. He had never expected to want to kiss anyone, ever. Damn the mech and all his touching.

"Sun?"

"I'm fine," he muttered peevishly. "Okay. So...you want...that. Now."

"You are afraid of me," Prowl said.

"No, rust take you!" Sunstreaker growled. Optics opening, he shoved Prowl in the chest plate. "I'm not. I don't... Sideswipe does that. Not me."

For a moment, Prowl studied him. His tone came low and even when he finally spoke. Perfectly calm. "I had calculated, three days ago when you fell into recharge before me, that it was safe to pursue a more physical association. I estimated that I had entered your comfort threshold."

Sunstreaker froze. Again. Clear speech from Prowl meant the AI. The fumbled speech meant Not-AI. But the down sweep and anxious flutter of two-toned auxiliary panels matched those words, if not the tone. The tic came a little faster as Sunstreaker stared at the wings and felt helpless.

"Sunstreaker, I am sorry about the presumption--"

"Shut up!" Sunstreaker shoved at Prowl again. He set the canister down; his hand shook too much. The AI said it. Prowl meant it, but the AI _said_ it. Sunstreaker didn't know what to think now. "Let me think, okay? Just be quiet."

Auxiliary panels tic-ticking madly, Prowl sat back on his pedes and quieted. Sunstreaker fought a shudder and stared down at his hands.

On at least some level, he had known the mech _could_ be interested. Prowl felt plenty and deeply, if a mech knew how to read him. He hadn't realized that the AI could be bent to accept...this whatever.

Sunstreaker didn't know if he could bend himself for it, for that matter.

Cool fingers brushed his face. Sunstreaker onlined his optics to meet Prowl's gaze. He didn't wanted to be fragged. He liked Prowl touching him. And that was comfortable, most of the time. Kissing wasn't. But Sunstreaker wanted to. Venting, he turned his face. Prowl started to pull away, until Sunstreaker shifted his seat on the floor to lean against Prowl's lumpy chest.

"You were my first friend, you know. That wasn't Sideswipe," Sunstreaker said.

"I will always be your friend."

Sunstreaker closed his optics. Somehow, that hurt. He thought it shouldn't. And it felt good? Pain shouldn't do that, either. "Okay. You want a little more, we'll just... We'll just go from here. Slowly."

"If that will allow our friendship to continue," Prowl said softly, but the audible click and sweep of his wings still punctuated his words. "I do not want that to end at the expense of possible physical acts."

"I won't go anywhere, Prowl. I just... It has to be slow." Sunstreaker hid his face on Prowl's chest plate, and Prowl finally slipped his arms around Sunstreaker. "I don't know if I'll want to. Ever."

For an answer, Prowl stroked his side, the touch light. Awkward as the position and situation felt, Sunstreaker relaxed by degrees. Prowl couldn't lie to him. But he could misdirect. Sunstreaker hadn't believed Prowl would act like everyone else.

That corner of his processor reminded him Prowl hadn't. Prowl hadn't asked to frag him. Nor had the mech told him how pretty he would look if... Sunstreaker pushed away, finally, and straightened up. The Praxian released him and reached for the energon canister, offering it to Sunstreaker once more.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"Do you wish to practice again? I interrupted your training regimen," Prowl said after glancing at the rolled up mat beside the lantern. 

"You want me to spend the night with you again, don't you? Tonight." Sunstreaker eyed Prowl.

"I thought you might be more comfortable recharging in a bed behind a door." Prowl's wings flicked twice, slowly, and Sunstreaker snorted.

"Fine. I was just wearing myself out. Since we got the fuel again. For a while." Sunstreaker climbed to his pedes beside Prowl. The Praxian collected the lantern he had left on the table and offered Sunstreaker his hand. As he lead the way out of the empty room, Sunstreaker wondered what did he tell anyone.


	7. Acceleration

Originally, Prowl had calculated this should have come two days ago, with Ratchet's full release from medical care. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe often defied his statistical analysis.

The finely tuned sensory nodules embedded all over his auxiliary panels alerted him to the minute atmospheric vibrations before his audials. Not sound and not touch, Prowl had only the common Praxian word for the sensation. In the moment, head tilted and wings shifting, he identified the source's relative position and size quickly. Counting stride length against number of paces narrowed his range of suspects.

He remained alert walking down the empty corridor. No one had wandered the old tactical division of this fort since it had been abandoned by its staff. The small group of guerrilla refugees inhabiting it now had never used it. Strategy meetings took place in Prime's office. Over the centuries, as many of their people had been sent into space in a bid for species survival, the number of people remaining in each division had decreased. Now, only the heads and stand-in assistants remained.

Prowl found the darkness here comforting. It made him difficult to find. Tilting his head to catch another faint echo, Prowl spread his wings.

Sideswipe followed him in the dark. Prowl had known both halves needed to be addressed for a change in relationship. His miscalculation had upset the balance out of his favor, but he believed it possible to repair this mistake through Sideswipe. If he handled this with delicate care.

When his pursuer closed the distance to very nearly arm's length, Prowl stopped and turned. His pectoral biolights flashed on the lower end of a bright red chest plate before Sideswipe bodily slammed him to the wall. Prowl grunted automatically in pain as the panel joints overflexed under the force and the wall scraped across the multitude of sensors; it had taken centuries to rewrite the associated reflex string for the sound. The positive results had been undeniable, however silent his designers meant him to be.

Sideswipe hissed above him, both pleased and guilty.

"How fraggin' _dare_ you-- Slaggin' _glitch_!"

Prowl ignored the slur, brightened his biolights, and looked into Sideswipe's optics. Flushed dark with anger, their light cast harsh highlights across the mech's face. Prowl reached up with both hands to grasp Sideswipe's shoulders. "I dared nothing, Warrior Sideswipe. I have desired to add a physical element to the relationship for over a millennia and a half. I miscalculated the level of...caution required. I apologize again for that. I will retract the request, if... If Sunstreaker requests it."

It fascinated him how both halves behaved so independently of the other. Equal but opposite his own situation. But in his desires, at least, Prowl had grown united.

" _I_ request it!" Sideswipe snarled. The mech bent, putting his face in Prowl's.

"Sunstreaker must request it." As long as half of the whole truly wanted him, Prowl had a chance. The halves would not approach a relationship as one, but Prowl did not mind sharing. He had nothing else to hold, and that inner maelstrom would take any conditions, any at all, to have this.

Sideswipe yanked his arm clear of Prowl's hold, fist balling, and Prowl shuttered his optics in hopes of protecting them. Hooking a pede around Sideswipe's knee as the air-shift against his chevron told him the punch had been thrown, Prowl put both hands against Sideswipe's chest plate. Pain lanced along the sensory connections of Prowl's cheek strut when the hit landed, and Prowl shoved Sideswipe backward hard. The mech yelped when he crashed.

The punch had cracked his right optical lens, but mechanism itself responded positively. Flaring his wings made them dangerously wide targets, but doing so allowed him to track Sideswipe's movements without the loss of depth perception. Prowl squirmed away as Sideswipe fell, onlining the functional optic for what it was worth.

Sideswipe could not have been too angry; either half alone still beat him in hand-to-hand matches despite his physical and mental superiority. Most of their lives had been spent in combat; most of his had not. That thought jogged his tactical network into rapid calculations. Prowl backed away. He held his hands up, his stance low and ready. Sideswipe rolled to his pedes, snarling.

"Sunstreaker must request it," Prowl repeated. He took two quick steps back as Sideswipe approached. "I will _not_ press if he decides he prefers our friendship unchanged. Warrior Sideswipe, please stop while I can still claim a training accident."

"He doesn't want you!" Sideswipe launched at Prowl again. The Praxian threw himself to the side, catching Sideswipe's arm as the mech's weight threw him past.

Prowl used the falling mech's momentum to spin around. He hooked a leg over Sideswipe's back as the mech's weight pulled them both down. Quickly, Prowl leaned forward, putting much of his own weight on Sideswipe's shoulders. "Stop!"

"Frag yourself!"

"Sideswipe, stop! I will not hurt you," Prowl's weight would not keep Sideswipe down long, but the mech's struggles slowed. "I will not hurt Sunstreaker."

"You just wanna frag him. You're not--" The warrior heaved under him. Prowl lost his grip and fell on his side. His right panel joint screamed up his neural net. Sideswipe jerked up, but he froze in the act, expression twisting. He stared at the palms of Prowl's quickly raised hands. Then past him to the unhealthy bend of the wing joint.

"I will not hurt you. I deeply value your friendship." Prowl said, allowing the pain to alter his tone. Another edit to the vast chain of controlled or inhibited reactions. Again, the time and care in alteration worked in his favor. Sideswipe's hand remained on the floor. Lowering his own hands cautiously, Prowl sat up. "If Sunstreaker truly does not want this change, it will not happen."

Sideswipe growled and punched Prowl's shoulder hard enough to knock him backward. That pinched panel joint shrieked audibly and an even sharper pain lanced up to interfere with Prowl's vision for three pulses of his spark. Sideswipe's face loomed over his when the whiteness cleared, hissing, "I'm not your friend."

"Si," Prowl said softly. His calculations suggested the use of the affectionate name might calm Sideswipe. Prowl lifted a hand to rest on the other's shoulder. "Help me up. I need to see Medical Officer Ratchet. That panel joint has failed and severed a main feed line. It is bleeding heavily."

"Slagger," Sideswipe growled. He sounded defeated. Prowl sometimes wondered if the antecedent mech had Sunstreaker's morals or Sideswipe's. Sideswipe helped him to his pedes as roughly as possible. Then he pushed the unsteady Prowl back-first into the wall. Pained, Prowl grunted, and Sideswipe's grip eased. "You hurt him, I will break off one piece at a time, you hear me?"

"I know you will. Help me to the medical suite, please. I will be unsteady with limited data from that panel."

"Can I make it stop bleeding?"

Prowl looked up to meet Sideswipe's angry gaze. He considered his answer as long as he dared before giving it to Sideswipe. "A clamp can pinch it off, but I will lose all data flow when the received fuel supply is exhausted."

"You'll die if you bleed out, too," Sideswipe muttered. He dug in his subspace, then opened the kit he pulled out.

"The mid-sized one should be large enough," Prowl informed him. "The joint is somewhat difficult to manipulate..."

"Shut up. I know how to clamp a line." Sideswipe turned Prowl ungently, eliciting another gasp. The joint hurt, and Sideswipe's clamp on the line made it worse. His wing lost sensation quickly. The joint screamed at him. Brusquely, Sideswipe continued, "C'mon. Let's get down there."

"I will not hurt you," Prowl said again.

Sideswipe's harsh glare landed on him with real weight before he bent to throw an arm around Prowl's shoulders. "You'll only have one chance."

* * *

"And you said Ratchet screamed at Sideswipe?" Optimus rubbed his forehead. His processor ached.

"Right before Sunstreaker decked him good, sir, yeah." Young Smokescreen grinned at him from a sprawl in the guest chair he occupied. Optimus admired his ability to make himself comfortable in a chair designed for wide, boxy Iaconi frame types.

"He decked Ratchet?" Optimus asked, an extra layer of exhaustion settled on him. He had put Prowl in charge of the twins for a reason...

"Naw. He decked Sideswipe, sir. Broke the same optic on Sideswipe that his brother'd broke on Prowl. Looked like a mad cryohen, you ask me. Or maybe he was mad _about_ his pet cryohen."

"A mad cryohen." The figure of speech no longer made Optimus wince. As the civil war had ravaged the planet, it had destroyed the fuel resources of the limited ecosystem of Cybertron. Very soon, the planet would be dry.

"Yup," Smokescreen said, bringing Optimus back to the conversation.

"Sunstreaker hit Sideswipe."

"Yup," Smokescreen repeated. He eyed Prime, and leaned forward, allowing his high-canted wings to swing back with amusement, bumping the broad chair back. "Y'know, you look as startled as Prowl. Not on his face, but..."

"Oh? When does Prowl ever look startled?" Optimus rubbed his face with both hands. How _did_ the twins manage half of what they did? He knew how they worked, but they didn't work how he expected at all. He looked at Smokescreen. "Did they break anything else? Last time they got physical, Sunstreaker was injured across his spine."

"Naw. Just the optic and a dented facial strut--apparently to match Prowl. Ratchet was snarling about it when I left," Smokescreen drawled. "And Prowl was petting Sunstreaker down. Like he was soothing his angry cryohen."

"They're just friends, Smokescreen," Optimus said. Smokescreen's wings shifted. Lowered and spread, they fluttered twice. Like Prowl's did at Sunstreaker all the time... Optimus narrowed his optics. "Prowl has to deal with Sunstreaker, that's part of Sunstreaker's deal with us. I can, however, deal with Sideswipe breaking our strategist."

"Good luck on that. Y'know, Prowl was tellin' Ratchet in no uncertain terms, exactly what you just said. His job to handle Sunstreaker, I mean. That's about when I realized he and Sideswipe _were_ fighting over a single, bright yellow cryohen, and I decided to share the joke with you."

"Of course, you did." Optimus muttered. "Off with you. I'll handle this mess later."

"Whatever you say, boss," Smokescreen chuckled and climbed to his pedes. "I'm out, then. Have fun."

Optimus chuckled, watching him leave. Yellow cryohen, indeed.

* * *

For all that his own terror tried to send Sunstreaker on a tailspin, Prowl's behavior changed very little. Every touch remained careful and exact in duration and weight. Prowl still managed Sunstreaker's duties and punishments. All things the same.

He never asked Sunstreaker to stay again. The first week after Sideswipe got suddenly assigned to guard the repair team by Optimus Prime (overriding Prowl's objections), Sunstreaker spent nights nervously alone in his own quarters. On the fifth night, Sunstreaker shoved his way into Prowl's quarters. Sunstreaker knew imagined the smile on the Praxian's always neutral face as he let Sunstreaker shove him to the bed, wings to the wall.

The AI didn't smile.

He helped Sunstreaker to sit, legs crossed over his own. That allowed Sunstreaker to lean over the mech's rounded chest plate. His shoulder wedged awkwardly in the crook of Prowl's arm, he wrapped that arm around the mech's back. Sunstreaker rested the other hand over the mech's bumper. Pressing one audial fairing over that plate, Sunstreaker counted each soft pulse of the spark beneath. Prowl always felt cool to the touch, before. Now, the hands gently running over his body warmed him.

As much as he wanted to kiss Prowl again, he also thought his tank would purge.

Closing his optics, Sunstreaker pressed his face tighter against Prowl's chest. One hand stroking him stopped. Sunstreaker shifted, uneasy, until it touched his jaw. Gentle fingertips pushed his head up. Prowl fitted Sunstreaker's fairings over his shoulder, cheek pressed against the joint.

Sunstreaker brought his optics online again to meet Prowl's intense gaze. He would have looked away if Prowl hadn't kept pressure at his jaw. Prowl's thumb stroked the ridge of his cheek. Sunstreaker shifted his pedes, moving his legs over Prowl's. "This isn't my face, you know. Not exactly."

Prowl nodded, as if he had known, and Sunstreaker closed his optics again. "When... when we escaped Kaon. I couldn't look at myself. Sideswipe, neither. We _looked_ Kaonite. Heavier, blockier. Plain helms for heavy strikes. Workers,"

"Gladiators."

"Slaves." Sunstreaker fell silent. Feeling Sideswipe across the distance, he pushed Prowl's hand away to hide against the mech's shoulder.

"You do not owe me your history," Prowl said. Sunstreaker still didn't know what to make of the AI's involvement. But the droop and press of Prowl's wings told hims that the mech meant the words.

"No. I don't," Sunstreaker mumbled against the bright plating under his face. "I don't owe you a rusted nail."

"I do not desire your company for your appearance," Prowl said. After a pause, he continued, "Nor does it factor into my wish for more intimacy. Interfacing is not my primary desire."

"Good, 'cause--"

"--it may not happen?" Prowl stroked his side again. "You did warn me, but I had considered that when I first considered a change in our relationship, some time ago."

Sunstreaker fidgeted in place. Finally, he lifted the hand he had rested on Prowl's bumper up to wrap the mech in an awkward hug that Prowl returned. Sideswipe fragged everyone, so long as they wanted his spike. Sideswipe said that he could handle that. With the slag the handlers had fed them, there had been enough inside them, Sideswipe didn't want anything else inside him. Maybe, Sunstreaker thought, he could handle that, too.

It hadn't felt like less of an invasion, then, but maybe it could.

Sunstreaker pulled back, onlining his optics, and looked at Prowl. He remembered what kissing Prowl had felt like. Fast pulsing spark, fire in his fuel lines. And fear, because desire had always been a loss of control. It occurred to him, belatedly, that Prowl had always done what Sunstreaker wanted, if circumstances allowed. Even the endless touching stopped when Sunstreaker hit his limit--when he didn't want any more.

Drawing his optics up from the mech's mouth to Prowl's optics, Sunstreaker moved his hand back to rest on the generous curve of the Praxian's chest plate. Then he leaned forward. Prowl held still while Sunstreaker hovered, lips just brushing together. Sunstreaker vented lightly, and the very tips of Prowl's wings wiggled in a nervous circle. Sunstreaker closed that little distance. Prowl's lips still felt soft.

They parted under his, inviting. Tension increasing, Sunstreaker debated before taking Prowl's bottom lip between his own. The Praxian's hands tensed on his body, but they didn't tighten. Prowl's firm grip held him up, not down. Sunstreaker lifted his head, ending the kiss. The darkness in Prowl's optics watched him move; hunger and want twisted the lines of the mech's face in unfamiliar ways.

Vaguely, Sunstreaker knew the AI had come down. Or stepped aside. The thing that sometimes looked at him from Prowl's bright optics was Prowl, unguarded. Maybe he had always suspected it. Sunstreaker bent forward and fit himself back tightly into Prowl's hold. Warm and securely held, Sunstreaker shivered because the fear didn't just fade away.

Running his hands over the repaired cheek, just beneath the whole optic, Sunstreaker wanted it to. He wanted to be happy like this. Because it felt good, because he trusted Prowl. Because it wasn't fair that he had gotten all screwed up inside. In all the time he had known Prowl, the mech had patiently built on Sunstreaker's tolerance. Maybe Sunstreaker could build on his own.

Slowly, Sunstreaker realized Prowl had wound his hold even closer, cradling Sunstreaker like something precious. Sunstreaker held Sideswipe like that. He had been held by Sideswipe like that. Others held them differently--like protection. Choking on a harsh vent, Sunstreaker hid his face against that rounded chest plate and shook.

Prowl murmured over him and petted him gently. And that was all he did while Sunstreaker came apart at the seams until Sunstreaker buckled under exhaustion. This time, he remembered falling into recharge with Prowl wrapped around him.

* * *

"Y'know, this thing's in better shape than I'd've thought," Wheeljack said. Perceptor paused in his inspection and replacement of controls wires to look over in the mech's direction. His upper half buried inside the navigation console, Perceptor saw nothing but legs and a backside. Attractive, he thought, and put the thought out of his head. Ratchet did not share, not even with mechs like Perceptor, only interested in recreational interfacing. Wheeljack went on speaking, and Perceptor decided the mech spoke only to himself. "I mean, it wasn't hermetically sealed like the fuel. But it's not all rust and dust and big pile of scrap."

"Hmm," Perceptor murmured. Then he reset his vocalizer, "It may not have been sealed om the outside, but it is designed to seal in and of itself. As an intended exploration vessel, the designers clearly meant for a crew to be rescued, should the worst happen. Instead of breaking up, blowing out, burning, or any number of horrifying ends, it will section off into stasis pods. It's really intriguing how they did this. And I had no idea this was being done. It is something of a travesty. I would have loved to work on this project."

"Yeah, well," Wheeljack kicked a pede in the air. His backside wiggled as he scooted around in his hole, "You didn't wanna work for the government, 'Cep."

"Especially not the military," Perceptor vented. He shucked another wire, pulling from his replacements before continuing, "But this--this is a thing of beauty and peace."

"Perceptor, you shoot nearly as well as that miniature Prowl," Grapple huffed from the far side of the bridge.

"That doesn't mean that I enjoy warfare. I enjoyed target shooting, and I am willing to apply that hobby to defending myself and others. This ship is meant to evade and survive. Weaponry is limited, shields are heavy, and it is fully intended to have much of its crew survive blows that cripple the ship itself for a long time."

"As long as we're survivn'," Wheeljack chuckled. "I got plans for my old age that don't include dying before creating."

"Oh?" Grapple chuckled, "Ratchet agreed to create with you?"

"Indeed he did." Wheeljack's backside performed a small, circular motion as the mech moved further in, and Perceptor smothered his laugh. "Ratchet wants to have a pack of bits. We talked about not alternating turns on building, but he listened to me. It's hard on a body to build too often, you know."

"I had thought you both might be too old," Perceptor said dryly as he straightened.

"Uh, no. I-- We're not," Wheeljack snickered. "Not yet. I always meant to settle down. It just didn't happen until the war started. Now..."

"Yes. Now. I'm done here. Allow me to find one of our escort and head for the engines to make see if I have the intercom working."

"Please. I still think we should restore it across the full ship," Perceptor muttered.

"If the bridge and the engines can talk, we can fly, 'Cep. Prime wants us off... Off this floating scrap yard." Wheeljack's pede in the air lowered, then kicked back up. "We can fix it later. When we land somewhere. I mean, we need housing until we can build, right?"

"I accepted the decision. This Prime accepts dissenting _opinions_ ," Perceptor reminded Wheeljack. Hearing the mech's head crash into the innards of the navigation console made him chuckle.

"I didn't mean it like that!"

"I know. Watch your head, Wheeljack. We need it functional. Go on, Grapple. Find a partner. Sideswipe is probably close. We're not to go anywhere without company," Perceptor reminded him. "Even if we should be alone in the remains of this city."

"Of course. Hopefully I will comm soon."

"Be safe," Wheeljack echoed from the console. Perceptor watched the mech step out, vented, then hurried to complete his task. He wanted to leave what was left of their world as soon as he could arrange it to happen.


	8. Countdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reminder, I'm not using binary pronouns before Earth. Also, thank you for your patience; I should have just one more chapter of this, and then I'll focus on Contracted.

"Progress report?"

"Actually, it's going very well, _Lord_ Megatron."

After sending a glare in Starscream's direction, Megatron turned to Shockwave. "Well?"

"Fuel production is complete, with thanks to Starscream's efforts. We have filled the tanks. The ship will be ready to fly within days, but I am still concerned about fueling ourselves for the length of your trip, sir."

Megatron hesitated, looking at the map on the table between them all. Rather than the pretty hologram the display-turned-table had once projected, a crudely rendered map of Cybertron covered it. Most of the surface bore the glyphs for death and wastelands, now. He had destroyed their world in his bid for their freedom.

Was anything ever so dearly bought?

"Soundwave?"

"Laserbeak reports the loyalists have increased activity within Iacon. Buzzsaw reports the heavy tanker mode and two guards have made more trips to Praxus."

"Have they seen that enforcer again?"

"Only during the incident with Astrotrain. The two other Praxians remaining have not been spotted outside of Iacon."

Megatron scowled and finally sat down. He had been certain that all the highly ranked enforcement corps of Praxus had died. The one that Prime had managed to enslave had been a particular wound to Megatron. At every turn, that Praxian had proven to be a worthy asset to Prime's army. If only Megatron had found him first.

"Other movements marked?"

"Demolitions and Laser Cannon spotted moving around Iacon with guards--Rust, Forcefield, and Devil, mostly. Sometimes others. There's also another that doesn't appear to be a combatant frequently with them," Starscream muttered, tapping Soundwave's report.

"Demolitions and Laser Cannon are not primarily combatants," Shockwave reminded the seeker. "Their skills simply make them effective on the field."

Starscream waved a hand. "They're up to something. Best to assume that they have a ship themselves, and the fuel to use it. We must hurry if we want to survive."

"Megatron, our stores here..." Shockwave leaned forward, hands resting on the old map. "The ship cannot hold all of us that remain."

"I know. I didn't intend to leave you here to rust. How long will the stores last?" Megatron asked.

"Perhaps a century."

"Then we have half that long to search out others and return. We will make as many trips as it takes,"

"Then I will remain here. I believe I can find or manufacture more," Shockwave said quietly. He looked down, single optic dimming. Watching him think, Megatron felt gratitude all over again for the disfigured mech's service.

"I will come back for every mech that stays with you," Megatron vowed. "You will not extinguish here in the dark."

Shockwave bowed his head. Starscream stood up. "I'll tend to our ship,"

"Do that. The sooner we launch, the better."

* * *

A familiar snarl sounded through the door as he arrived. Sunstreaker transformed, throwing it open. He barely saw the chair in time to duck. Hitting the floor jangled his struts. Sunstreaker heard the chair clatter to the floor and scrambled towards where Wheeljack tried to hold Prowl to the wall. Prowl hadn't managed to throw the lighter Wheeljack.

Yet.

[ I'm here! Get them out! ] he commed Wheeljack as he pried the engineer's fingers loose. Wheeljack let go, gratitude flashing on his fins, and Sunstreaker dismissed the mech from his mind.

Prowl hadn't snapped in ages. He shut down a lot, poor glitch, but Sunstreaker had thought Prowl had gotten a handle on this side of his glitch. Jazz and Blaster didn't play music in meetings any more. Ratchet kept himself civil, if he had to be present. Optimus kept himself as quiet as possible. Wheeljack had taken the damned time to learn when the signs before the tension between the AI and the mech snapped.

What the frag had happened?

Once Wheeljack cleared himself out of the way, Sunstreaker let the struggling mech go. Prowl shoved himself up, aiming for Wheeljack where he herded the meeting out. Not Wheeljack, Sunstreaker thought. _Prime_ shuffled out with Wheeljack's hands on his back.

Snatching the Praxian around the waist, he yanked the mech's backside into his midsection. Sunstreaker hit the floor aft-first, but his tight hold kept Prowl confined to his lap. His hands and arms got punched, and the wild flapping wings smacked him in the head and fairings. Prowl's attacks stayed wild, in this state. Wild, but ridiculously focused on whatever had set him off.

Sideswipe's angry irritation announced his arrival outside, and his light push on Sunstreaker's half of their spark told him they had shut the door. Sunstreaker let Prowl go again, watching the mech huddle away from him now. He watched Prowl sharply until the Praxian started punching the floor.

Sunstreaker vented and slowly picked himself up. He had quickly learned several things the first few times this happened. First, get whatever slag had set Prowl off out of the room. Second, keep Prowl from following it. Last, make sure Prowl didn't start hurting himself somehow. Those things accomplished, Sunstreaker could search Prime's damn table for the extra ration they had started keeping there after the first time. Prowl needed it when the spells ended.

After relocating the ration bar to the table top, Sunstreaker righted a chair on Prowl's side of the table, sat his aft down, and watched Prowl's fit play out. Too many meetings, Sunstreaker decided. And Prowl loathed Prime. Too much time around their glorious leader had put the mech on edge, after that trip to Prowl's personal Pit.

Stupid, blundering giant said something. And now Sunstreaker had to wait out Prowl's torment. Sunstreaker ignored the little corner of his own processor that suggested _he_ had something to do with this one. Prowl _knew_ Sunstreaker's past better than anyone else here. Prowl kept his promises.

When Prowl finally settled down to exhausted, wing-waving and shivering, Sunstreaker grabbed the ration bar and held it out to Prowl. The soft, familiar confusion in Prowl's gaze hurt just as it had before. Wiggling the bar made Prowl's gaze drop to it. The mech reached for it, clumsy in the wake of his fit. Prowl held the ration with both hands, watching Sunstreaker intensely.

"You cold?" Sunstreaker asked finally. Sometimes, after the storm passed, Prowl wanted to rest against him. That little voice in Sunstreaker's head said he should have realized it probably meant something, centuries ago. Sunstreaker ignored that damn voice. Prowl shook his head. Then Prowl crawled forward and, shocking Sunstreaker, leaned across his lap.

Sunstreaker froze. Staring down at Prowl, he felt trapped by the mech's peaceful expression as the mech fitted his head and arms on Sunstreaker's thighs. The jut of his own chest kept Prowl from properly fitting against Sunstreaker's knees. Forcing himself to relax, Sunstreaker placed a hand between Prowl's panel joints. After ten minutes passed on his internal chronometer, Sunstreaker rubbed up and down between the panels. Prowl vented, optics closed, and just sort of melted in place.

Well, Sunstreaker thought, this is new.

Prowl's voice promised many things in Sunstreaker's memory. Safety. Fuel. Patience. Wheeljack would have helped Prowl. Ratchet should have. Prime wanted to. But the mech had attached to Sunstreaker. And if Sunstreaker stopped lying to himself, he had attached just as strongly. Watching his hands tremble, Sunstreaker leaned forward. His own frame wouldn't bend over Prowl, but leaning, he could reach across both panels. Not to pet, which agitated Prowl after these fits, but to rest. That calmed the mech further. Prowl _settled_ even more under his weight.

Sunstreaker had wanted someone to care about him. Most of his life, Sunstreaker had been used. A thing. Looking down at Prowl, he remembered how Prowl's panic had cracked that uncanny calm the first time Sunstreaker had gotten overcharged in his quarters. Prowl had been a thing, too. Sunstreaker had known that. Prowl had told Sunstreaker the bare struts of his own life story.

With the mech resting in his lap now, he understood it. Sunstreaker felt it in the skip of his own spark. Sunstreaker had friends. He had a family, for all that Ratchet and Wheeljack hadn't built him themselves. Prowl had been his friend first. Sunstreaker remained Prowl's only friend. An army full of mechs, and even the kid Prowl had helped raise had turned on him.

Slowly, after another twenty minutes passed, Sunstreaker smoothed his hands across the back of Prowl's panels. The mech's soft vent encouraged him to repeat the caress. Prowl's wings twitched under his hands, and the mech tensed. Sunstreaker looked up at the door. Ironhide leaned casually against the frame, the door itself swung mostly shut behind him.

"Meetin's adjourned," the old mech vented. "Think ya can get 'im t' rest up?"

Sunstreaker scowled. Ironhide rubbed his bad hip and shuffled inside. The door swung shut behind him. "Don' gimme that look, young'n. Ah'm thinkin' yer mech'd feel better in 'is own bed, not on this office floor 'ere."

"He isn't _mine_ ," Sunstreaker hissed. Prowl shivered in his lap, and, not thinking, Sunstreaker caressed the ticking panels.

"Look, you been thick as seekers since ya two met," Ironhide replied calmly. "An' Ah ain' gonna knock ya down fer what 'olds ya up. Neither one a ya. Can Ah 'elp ya get somewhere ya both feel safer? Ain' playin', mech."

Frowning, Sunstreaker hesitated, but he finally muttered, "Help Sideswipe clear the halls. This embarrasses him enough. I can get him that far, but he won't be ready to come out again for hours."

"Like before, eh? Gotcha. Ah'd thought..."

"It'll never be over for him. This one was building for a long time, I think. Clear the halls, Rusty."

"Young mechs got no respect," Ironhide snorted. "Be glad we came back fer a break when we did."

"Yeah, well, your damned progress meeting set this off. Go,"

Ironhide laughed and turned around. Sunstreaker looked down at Prowl. For a moment, he only continued to smooth his hands over Prowl's wings. Ironhide and his brother needed some time. Cautiously, Sunstreaker shifted back, then curled his hand under Prowl's jaw. The mech whined. His wings snapped tight together behind him and lowered on Prowl's frame. Sunstreaker vented.

"I know you don't wanna move, Prowl." Sunstreaker let him go to pet Prowl's back. "You still have the bar? Okay, can you eat it for me?"

Like before, Sunstreaker found it easier to coax Prowl along one step at a time. The mech still said nothing, and that began to worry Sunstreaker. Before, the AI returned within a few minutes to assess the damage done. Uneasy with the shift, Sunstreaker got Prowl to eat the ration, and then to his pedes. One step at a time got them both into the corridor, down the turns, and finally into Prowl's quarters.

There, Sunstreaker laid back on the bed with Prowl hunched beside him. It looked uncomfortable, but Prowl fitted the curve of his chest against Sunstreaker's hip anyway. It let Prowl rest his head on the lower end of Sunstreaker's longer, broader chest plate. It also trapped Sunstreaker's right arm under the mech's wing and his right leg between Prowl's.

For a moment, panic edged along Sunstreaker's processor, a vivid and living thing. He felt Prowl settle beside him, calm and relaxed. Early on, Prowl had tried this. Sunstreaker ran his free hand down Prowl's arm. He touched the mech's fingers, and he wondered again about the claw marks on Prowl's ancient board game. Looking down at the silent mech beside him, Sunstreaker felt his half spark wobble. Once, Sunstreaker had trusted Prowl because the mech feared losing the one friend he counted. Thinking now, he knew better. Ironhide and Chromia had been on the rescue team at Praxus. Chromia had told Sunstreaker he had found Prowl passed out in a hole in the rubble. The mech had dug until he ran out of fuel.

Prowl hadn't liked the government of Praxus any more than he liked Prime. Prowl had very nearly broken down in Praxus, because they had wanted to take the fast way out of the dead city. And that way passed beneath, Sunstreaker knew, that same hole Chromia had found Prowl in, by what Prowl said in Praxus. Prowl had dug that hole looking for the mech that had left the claw marks on those game pieces. Someone Prowl had loved. Someone that had loved Prowl. Once. Now, watching Prowl fall bit by bit into recharge snuggled tight to his side, Sunstreaker knew Prowl loved him, too. Really loved him.

Giddy and terrified, Sunstreaker laced his fingers with Prowl's. The mech's optics remained closed, but his lips curved.

* * *

"Remember, this is a distract and run mission. You must be back in time for the launch. Jazz and Prowl don't like the quiet. Jazz is certain we've been spotted moving fuel, thanks to that attack on Prowl's team--" Optimus mumbled into the headrest of his bed, too drained to face his guest. His bed held rank as the saddest part of his life at the moment. Soft, wide, and indulgent, the padding screamed its origin in the best beds of Iacon, however frayed and dulled. Every mech in his army had something like it. Only one noble still survived as far as Optimus knew.

And that mech had helped them salvage these pads. 

"Shush, Optimus. And, you know, Jazz can blame Prowl, but wasn't that glaringly yellow friend of his the one jumping out at that freak?" Loosening his cables with a slow, langourous stretch that made stiff joints creak, Elita dropped into the chair nearest Optimus' bed. "We'll be fine. My mechs all know what they're doing."

"Yes, but you've got all the volunteers with you."

"I beg...? Oh. The mod, right. It isn't _needed_ , Optimus. As those forbidden histories said, we were _made_ to build our _replacements_ ," Elita said with a snort. "And the few of us that elected to keep that mod installed aren't going to be enough. You know, the primary Praxian frame type has the room for the mod. So do a few others, come to that--"

"Oh, no. Bluestreak is too young, Smokescreen isn't responsible enough, and Prowl...would be a bad idea."

"Are you pulling separatist babble on me?"

Optimus turned his head to glare fuzzily at his lieutenant. Elita grinned at him, and Optimus groaned. "No, I am not! Primus."

"All right. Then I'll concede Bluestreak and Smokescreen may not be ready when we make landfall on our new home, but why not Prowl? His processing module's too valuable to let die out with him, you know. And you've only agreed to let him off base three times unless we were decamping. He's as safe as anyone can be in the middle of camp. Maybe more with those hulking twins, red one's temper notwithstanding. And you know he'd agree as pragmatically as he does everything else."

"Frag you, you know that's why I can't!" Optimus snapped. He shoved himself up and maneuvered to sit on his aft. "He would agree. Whether he wanted it or not."

Elita looked at him, head tilted, as he thought about that. "You think that glitch of his would force him, if you asked?"

"That personality is programmed for obedience to higher authority. I'm the only authority left above him."

"Praxus really fragged that project up, didn't it?" Elita vented. Propping his pedes on Optimus' bed, he wiggled the ends. "Fine. But it may come to it, Optimus. We're too few. And we don't know if _any_ of the ships made it. And there were rebel ships that went out."

"We don't know that they made it either. Elita, trust me, will you? I know you and your team agreed, and you'll make anyone internals their externals if they try something you don't want. I can't be certain of that with Prowl. I'll break down and use the Matrix first."

Elita laughed. "Fine. Be preachy and honorable. We'll make your distraction, you get us off this hunk of scrap and somewhere to _live_ again."

"Remember your time crunch. Our window of safety won't be big. Prowl's odds on them having a weapon capable of taking that ship down..."

"I know. I was there for the meeting, before he tried to break through your blast mask again. Remember?"

Optimus huffed. "Yes, well..."

"You worry. I know. It's very cute," Elita said, smirking. He dropped his pedes to the floor and shoved upright.

"You're not staying...?" Optimus ignored Elita's broad grin.

"I've an appointment with Jazz. He does the most amazing things with his hands, you know. It's a perfect way to remind myself to come back quickly."

"I see. Carry on, then," Optimus said, waving Elita out with a brightening of his optics. "I see when I'm not wanted."

"Oh, you're wanted. But you weren't for me, were you?" Elita bent down and kissed top of Optimus' head. He gave Optimus' shoulder a quick squeeze. "Don't worry so much. I've got it all in hand."

"I'm made of worry. Go on. Enjoy your evening, Elita. I'll see you on the ship."

"Good night, Optimus."


	9. Rising Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to be one chapter. I ran long, didn't want to cut things out, so there will be two. Hmph. Still working on the second half. Have this much. Sorry!

The next morning, Sunstreaker's processor crawled out of recharge, aware of Prowl's legs still tangled with his. And that Prowl's fingers had not remained laced with his. The one not stuck between their respective bulks traced the curve of his chest with the gentlest of touches. Yesterday's panic threatened to send Sunstreaker into his own kind of fit. Shuddering to his struts stopped Prowl's hand. The Praxian looked up at Sunstreaker, optics dim but clear. His hand flattened over Sunstreaker's spark. "Good morning."

"It's almost midday," Sunstreaker managed to reply. He reset his optics and, with a great deal of trepidation, put his hand over Prowl's.

"It is. I must thank you for assisting me yesterday evening. And I must offer my apologies."

"Hmm." Sunstreaker had given up getting the mech to stop that. Apparently most mechs _had_ expected glitches to apologize for the government's damn slagpile mess. Prowl hadn't done this to himself, but somehow it was still his fault. Like Sunstreaker's creation frame class. Now Sunstreaker rubbed the back of Prowl's hand with his palm, then laced his fingers through Prowl's. The gold against the white pleased him on some level. "You be okay now?"

"Yes," Prowl responded, curling his hand to squeeze the ends of Sunstreaker's fingers. Wiggling out of the awkward tangle they had recharged in, Prowl tried to sit up. He looked down, wings canting in confusion, when Sunstreaker refused to let go. Some of that confusion showed in the mech's face. Just a little bit of expression. Just enough. Sunstreaker eased his grip only to catch Prowl's hand palm to palm. Levering himself to sit upright on his free hand, Sunstreaker used his grip to pull and nudge Prowl around and up to his knees. Satisfied, he pulled Prowl down until their mouths met. He felt Prowl tense, straining not to overreact. Breaking the kiss, Sunstreaker scooted his aft back, and he freed the arm he leaned on to wrap under Prowl's flexing panel joints. Prowl hunched slightly, letting Sunstreaker pull them together as much as Prowl's lumpy chest design allowed. In their flutter between angles, Sunstreaker read Prowl's desire. He also read the mech's own fear.

Prowl tasted of stale rations when Sunstreaker kissed him again and coaxed his lips apart. He ignored that morning flavor like he ignored his own building terror, Sunstreaker closed his denta on the mech's bottom lip, then released it to deepen the kiss. That earned him a low moan. Prowl begin to push Sunstreaker back, and Sunstreaker felt Sideswipe react to his strain across their tangled connection. Prowl's free arm reached behind him, not to hold Sunstreaker down but to brace himself up. Sunstreaker knew he trembled now, and he hated it. Anger bubbled up as Prowl's lean forced him to prop _himself_ up, and Sunstreaker wouldn't acknowledge his panic. And Sideswipe began to press in just as hard.

The mech's grip on Sunstreaker's hand hurt, and his diagnostic warned him that his core temperature and pressures should be reduced immediately. Just like that first time, Sunstreaker wanted this kiss, and his body reacted. He wanted Prowl, but even that small sign of Prowl's desire frightened him. When Sunstreaker had to fold his arm down to his elbow, his strained hold on calm snapped. Sunstreaker let himself drop back to the bed all at once so he could shove Prowl away.

To his surprise, Prowl went as pushed. He kept Sunstreaker's hand, but his grip eased, and he scooted back, to let Sunstreaker sit up. Shaking, looking at their joined hands, Sunstreaker doubted again that he could do this at all. And he realized part of his fear came from the idea that Prowl might grow to hate him because he couldn't. Promise or no promise. Sunstreaker didn't even love himself most days, and he was as much a mess as Prowl, maybe more, and--

Prowl released his hand and wrapped both arms around him. Sunstreaker felt the mech's wings ticking a counterpoint to his own shaking, and he closed his optics. He pushed loose so he could sit his aft closer, then he settled more comfortably to one side of Prowl's curved armor. Ignoring Prowl's surprised grunt and glad that kneeling made Prowl's chest high enough for this, Sunstreaker settled tight around the mech's side. Prowl responded by putting his left arm around Sunstreaker again. When Sunstreaker began to lace the fingers of their free hands together again, Prowl hesitated. "Sunstreaker?"

"Just sit here, okay? I can't... I'm scared, okay?" Sunstreaker finally admitted. "I don't know if I can do this."

"If you cannot, you cannot. As I told you, I most desire your friendship." Prowl's hand come up to rest on the back of his head, and Sunstreaker vented against Prowl's plating.

"You... You really think you can be that patient?"

"It is not a matter of patience." Prowl rubbed a hand down his side, the rhythm soothing. Sunstreaker straightened up to meet Prowl's gaze. Pressing tighter to Prowl's frame, Sunstreaker gave him a quick, light kiss, only to feel the slightest of smiles. He couldn't see it when he leaned back, and Prowl continued, "We will be readying for the first departure today. It is encouraged to pack as lightly as possible. Our fuel is finite."

"Figured. I don't have much, anyway." Like everyone else, most of his personal possessions were long gone. Now, Sunstreaker only had haphazardly built holodiscs with images of Sideswipe and their friends, the fancy datapad Ratchet had given him when they had met, and the weapons he had collected.

"No one does," Prowl agreed. "I have work to do--"

"Shut up." Sunstreaker ran a finger over Prowl's bottom lip, then wiggled off Prowl's bed, feeling clumsy. "Is there a schedule yet?"

"That is what I need to do. I must move out with the second wave." Prowl unfolded and climbed off his bed as graceful as Sunstreaker was not. "Do you and Sideswipe wish to move out with me or first with Ratchet?"

"Better send him with Ratchet. I'll wait, though. I'll... I'll meet you here around meal time?" Sunstreaker shuffled on his pedes. He wondered if he sounded as stupid as he felt.

"I would enjoy that." Wings fluttering, Prowl reached up to echo Sunstreaker's brush across his lips. "I will bring our meal?"

"Yeah. That'd be good." Sunstreaker ignored the wobble in his struts. He still couldn't separate the fear from the want. He bent, catching Prowl around the shoulders with his longer reach between the flitty wings and the hover wells that nested in the mech's shoulders. Prowl tilted forward, bringing his hands up to Sunstreaker's elbows. Sunstreaker released him after a moment, then turned to leave.

* * *

[ That's a war ship, ] came over his comm. Chromia. Distracted, Elita nodded. He knew very well what it was. He thought he even recognized the base design, despite modifications from his memory. Without much room for passengers, the ship bristled with weaponry. The rebels, it seemed, no longer cared if they died--so long as any loyalists left died with them. Closing his optics briefly, Elita fought back the old ache. It did no good to dwell on the past; it took a god to change the past, and Cybertron has lost theirs long ago.

[ We're in trouble, aren't we?" ] a second voice asked. Elita glanced back at Moonracer, then at the rest of his team. They had always been in trouble. Even their optimistic Prime knew that. And while Optimus thought he could get everyone off this dead hunk of scrap, Elita believed that he and Optimus had a price yet to pay.

[ Plan doesn't change, mechs. Set the charges and run like Unicron were after us. We're already packed up. Now let's go. ] Elita motioned his mechs into their assigned pairs. Chromia came up alongside him. Elita glanced back with a sour smirk, then they both faded into the shadows like their mechs.

* * *

"Haul back! Fraggers!" Ironhide shouted over their heads. Sunstreaker scowled at Sideswipe. According to his brother, Ironhide had been a giant aft for the entire three weeks his group had been there. He guessed he didn't blame the old general. Elita's teams had disappeared into the dark and had yet to return. Ironhide handled his worry by overworking. And that left the teams moving what precious freight had to go with them overworking, too. Everything had to be loaded just _so_ , then bolted down. The ship was supposed to have generated gravity, but Ironhide and Red Alert didn't trust anything. Perceptor's sidelong glances and Wheeljack's head rubbing hadn't been reassuring, either. And Sunstreaker didn't want to think about Grapple near anything his life depended on. Sideswipe smirked, and Sunstreaker made a face. Sunstreaker hadn't been on any sort of ship before, only ground transports, but he knew all kinds of things could go horribly wrong. He shrugged his unease and Ironhide's foul mood off to finish working. The faster everything got settled, the faster they launched.

Prowl had promised Sunstreaker could stay on the bridge with him and Sideswipe during launch.

After satisfying Ironhide, Sunstreaker escaped to claim the small crate with his things before finding Smokescreen near the lift to be assigned quarters. Smokescreen smirked at him, commenting on Prowl's override to put Sunstreaker nearer to the lift, so he could be ordered to his quarters faster. Glaring that mech down never worked, but a short, dull green mech behind him whinged about the delay until Smokescreen gave Sunstreaker his number and directions. In his quarters, right next door to both the lift _and_ the wash station, Sunstreaker emptied the small box into the drawers.

Sometimes, their luck made him wonder if Primus did exist. Other times, he figured Unicron had woken again.

When his door sounded a soft ping, Sunstreaker held the oldest of his tiny collection of holodiscs. With the limited fuel, he hadn't seen the capture Wheeljack had taken since the second or third ship had escaped. Or been destroyed. As he remembered the image, Sunstreaker sat on Prowl's left and Sideswipe on his right. Sunstreaker leaned over Prowl's arm, grinning at his brother's annoyance as they pointed at each other. Behind them, Prowl sat back with his wings canted at their most relaxed angle. He wanted to turn it on, but that risked its minuscule power supply. The ping sounded again, and Sunstreaker reset his vocalizer. "Yeah?"

The ping answered him a moment later, and Sunstreaker made a face. Either no voice recognition or it didn't follow slang. Great. He reached down to the screen on the bedside table and tapped the lit door glyph. The door slid open. Prowl, wings flicking twice in his version of laughter, stepped inside quickly, and the door slid closed behind him. "I wondered if you were here. We launch in fifty-three minutes. Are you ready?"

"That quick? Have you heard from Elita yet?" Sunstreaker turned back to hurry through his task. Prowl just watched him and waggled his wings in a slow sweep. Sunstreaker tried a different question, "So, you meant it? About me on the bridge?"

"Yes. There are four jump seats on the bridge for non-essential personnel. If you have decided not to join us, the seats here at the desks have launch harnesses," Prowl said, opening the manual side panels on the chair back to show him before closing the panels up.

"No. I'm coming. Smokescreen was bein' an aft, so it took me a while to get here." Suntreaker eyed his pulse rifle. Seemed silly to bring it, but Prowl hadn't answered his question about Elita's teams. A flicker of unease across his half spark made him want to bring his rifle. Sideswipe's reach across their shared spark settled the urge, and Sunstreaker closed and locked the drawer. Then he looked at Prowl. And fidgeted.

"Sunstreaker? Are you well?"

Closing the distance, Sunstreaker's intake tank turned unhappily. His sensor net felt so _hot_. "You changed my quarters. Closer to the lift. And the officers' deck."

"You are closer to the wash station. You have always enjoyed cleaning yourself," Prowl said. His auxiliary panels lowered and swung back. Afraid. Prowl had changed them for Sunstreaker's comfort, then. Not for his own access.

Rocking up to the tips of his pedes to reach, Sunstreaker bent to kiss Prowl's chevron. The mech shuddered, a faint sound escaping his vocalizer. He leaned forward to move his lumpy chest down, and his hands lifted to stroke Sunstreaker's upper arms, silently asking for more. When Sunstreaker had discovered how sensor rich it was just two weeks ago, Prowl's eager reaction had scared him into throwing the mech off. But there was something exhilarating about watching the AI weaken, and temptation had led Sunstreaker to repeat the caress a few days later. That time Prowl had oh-so-carefully controlled himself. Sunstreaker didn't know how to name the emotion _he_ felt. A mix of terror and hunger, but neither word worked. And he couldn't make up his mind. Held now in Prowl's arms, Sunstreaker wanted to move this to the bed and kiss the mech again, but Prowl already pushed him away. And Sunstreaker felt as relieved as he did disappointed.

"The bridge," Prowl said, voice rough. Obscurely, a hint of pride trickled into Sunstreaker's confused thoughts. Prowl continued, "I must go. Are you coming?"

"Yeah... Yeah. I'm finished packing now. Lead me up there."

Prowl caught his hands, laced their fingers together for a quick squeeze, then let go to leave. Sunstreaker followed him to the bridge, still too warm, and sat in the stupid jump seat after Prowl showed him how to use the harness. Heads turned to look, and Sideswipe made a face at Prowl, and Sunstreaker made a face at Sideswipe. His brother then bent to confer with Ironhide about the controls, but he reached back for Sunstreaker through their entangled bond. The overlaid image of the controls, he ignored for the offered memory of the command staff's argument.

When he shook free of Sideswipe, he scowled at Prime, Jazz, and Prowl who all stood close by the command chair, arguing again. Ironhide left Sideswipe to join them. His voice carried, and he wasn't happy. Sunstreaker's unease returned and magnified as the argument got progressively louder. He threw a look at Sideswipe. Sideswipe looked at Mirage, stationed at a console not far from Sunstreaker. Trailbreaker had started humming. Bluestreak talked at the dull green mech Sunstreaker had seen behind him earlier, rapid and anxious.

"Prime, if we do not launch now--"

"Elita's team--"

"-- _none_ of us will make it!" Prowl snarled. _Snarled._ Sunstreaker's attention snapped back to the Praxian. He counted the beats of Prowl's wings, half-afraid Prowl might snap again. "I told you there was a high risk that some teams would not make the launch time. Each commander and their second knows where the stockpiled fuel we must leave is, Prime. We leave _now_ , and there is a chance we can come back for them. If we do not, this last chance will be lost."

"Prowl! You sparkless _glitch_! My mate's out there--"

"Ironhide, calm down. There's no call to insult anyone," Optimus cut across them both. He caught Ironhide's shoulder and held a hand out as if to soothe Prowl's tension. "Prowl, we can give them a few more hours, surely? Jazz, bring Blaster up here and get on the communications hub. See if he can't reach them."

Jazz frowned, but disappeared back down the lift. Sunstreaker watched Ironhide stomp back to his seat beside Sideswipe. He caught Bluestreak's glare at Prime, when their glorious leader dropped into the captain's chair to rub his helm. The kid glared at Prowl, too, but he kept talking more or less in the green mech's direction. Sideswipe spoke quietly to Ironhide, and near Sunstreaker, Mirage and Trailbreaker turned back to their tasks. Prowl stood where the argument ended, wings tick-ticking, and Sunstreaker felt his unease grow into a nagging worry. Finally Prowl moved the empty station between Sunstreaker and Mirage. He glanced at Sunstreaker before turning to the console, and Sunstreaker vented as Prowl's wings slowed.

The lift spat Ratchet into the tension. He scowled at everyone, but he stalked over to Sunstreaker to whisper, "What happened?"

"Elita's teams aren't back. Prime wants to wait for them," Sunstreaker said. He risked a glance at Prowl. Ratchet's optics rested on Ironhide when Sunstreaker turned back. "No one heard from them here?"

"No. We'd hoped you had," Ratchet growled. He strapped himself into the jump seat next to Sunstreaker. He watched the tense mechs with Sunstreaker. Jazz returned with Blaster, eventually, and they took up the last two stations. Blaster plugged himself into the station after strapping himself in. Sunstreaker focused his attention on the huddled pair. He didn't want to leave Elita's mechs behind, but scuttlebutt said the rebels had more of those mechs. And at least one of the combining teams remained. Primus knew if their one survived out there. None of the mechs that had been sent off had come back. Most believed they had died, but Sunstreaker wondered. If he had a chance out of this slag, would he have come back? They hadn't been able to power the long range communications, so they would have to physically return. He glanced at Prowl and shifted in his seat, ignoring the flutter in his spark. Sideswipe scowled back at him.

The equipment under Blaster's hands crackled, three quarters of an hour later. Everyone sat up. Bluestreak started flicking his wings hard enough to mimic Prowl's foul mood. A voice, full of static, filled the bridge. "Command?"

Ironhide froze beside Sideswipe. Only Prowl continued to work through whatever it was at his station. Optimus moved faster than Sunstreaker expected, getting out of his chair and over to Blaster. The host did _something_ Sunstreaker couldn't see, and the voice returned, clearer. "Command? Killer? Anyone?"

"I hear you, Lieutenant," Optimus said. "What happened to your commander? Where are you?"

" _Shuddup_ , mech. We hit the target and had to fight our way out. We're hiding now. Elita's unconscious. They've got a warship. _Get off Cybertron!_ "

"But you can make it, I'm sure--"

"Frag you, Prime." Jazz snarled. He threw himself back at his station and his hands shot wildly over the console. "Overridin' 'im, Prowl. On th' mark--

"Jazz!"

"Prime--" the ship's communication line crackled. Blaster corrected the feed, and Chromia's voice returned, clear and sharp. "Prime, leave! We'll regroup. We'll live."

Ironhide went stiff at his post and looked at the Prime and Prowl, agonized. A siren sounded, but Prowl, frozen, looked at Prime. Optimus closed his optics. "Prowl, keep us alive."

Sunstreaker watched as Prowl's hands echoed Jazz's in a mad dance over the command station to set the ship free. Immediately, the rusted thing lurched. The hanger doors opened above them, and the ship rose past them to fling itself upward into the endless star drenched sky above the rusted circled of their world. The whole ship shuddered with strain as it climbed. A sudden pain on Sunstreaker's arm made him look at sharply at Ratchet's hand tight grasp on his guard. The ship jerked, Sunstreaker decided he loathed flying even by machine. He hated being a passenger, watching all the quiet, tense activity. He hated feeling the ship shake around him. If he had been alone in his quarters with this slag, he would have freaked out. He shook Ratchet off just to grab the mech's hand the right way. Eyeing Jazz and Prowl pilot the ship, Sunstreaker decided this was better.

But not by much.


	10. Tailspin

It took another twelve minutes by his chronometer for the ship's flight to level off. Ratchet vented in relief beside him. Sunstreaker glared at the Prime as Jazz announced the ship had broken through the atmosphere. And now Sunstreaker realized he was strapped _to_ his seat, rather than strapped _in_ his seat. The ship was past Cybertron's gravity well, and the fools hadn't turned on the gravity. Squirming in discomfort, he turned to Prowl, then stopped at the mech's frantic wing-waving. Prowl looked up from his station to Prime, "The scopes report a ship incoming. The rebels must also have launched."

Prime rubbed back across his helm. "Shields up?"

"Yes, sir. They will try to board," Prowl said. "It is most likely they will try first to take the ship. To kill us and take their own mechs off world. A relatively undamaged ship is too valuable as a resource."

"I understand. Try to get us out of here first, Prowl. We have to survive." Prime said. "Arrange defense against boarding parties. Capture if you can. Kill if you can't. Just get us on a habitable planet. Alive."

Prowl left his seat to float over to Jazz. After the first moment of awkwardness, he shot over easily. Ironhide joined them, gesturing angrily enough that he had to grab the console to stay by them. Finally, Jazz turned to Blaster. With the all-ship intercom still down, only the host's internal comm was powerful enough to reach anyone on the other side of the ship unaided. Sunstreaker stared at the other ship on Prowl's display, watching the cited distance decrease. Uneasy, he glanced at Prowl. No one had weapons out; shooting up the interior of the ship sounded like a bad idea, if anyone wanted it functional. But Sunstreaker really, really wanted that old rifle. His fingers twitched, and he remembered its weight and age-roughened surface.

Prowl pushed himself back to his station. Suntreaker reached out, and Prowl actually let himself be caught and pulled up. Subdued, Sunstreaker asked, "I should get my rifle?"

"No. Commander Jazz and I calculate a small risk of them firing on us. A breached hull, when they board, should be the limit of the damage they are willing to risk. The ship's design includes many ways to seal off any breached section, but they cannot know that. If they wish to take the ship with a minimum of wasted resources, they will not fire. We have more to fear," Prowl replied as he strapped himself back inside. After a small pause, he continued, "You and your brother remain our best hand-to-hand warriors, along with Ironhide and Prime. I may need you and Warrior Sideswipe to assist in repelling any boarding parties. I cannot say where they may attempt to attach."

Sunstreaker looked to where his brother bent over his station. He wanted to tap his pedes on the floor, but he just knew his fidgeting would be too obvious in the lack of gravity. Sunstreaker decided all again that he hated flying. "Yeah, yeah. Just get me on the ground without dying, okay? You sure I shouldn't get my rifle?"

"That is my goal, Sunstreaker," Prowl replied. Sunstreaker couldn't decide if he had only heard the mech's smile. "I will see us to safety, in any way I can. No rifles. I estimate an ninety-one percent likelihood they will try first to take the ship without damaging it. More of them hail from traditionally warrior frame classes."

 _Like me and Si_ , Sunstreaker thought but didn't say. Ratchet's long ago gift of upgraded armor had been styled after Iaconi builds, but it had the strength he remembered from his Kaonite origin. Sunstreaker's expression darkened. Prowl reached out to Sunstreaker, wings twitching in an anxious pattern, then his hand fells as his optics moved past Sunstreaker. The warrior remembered Ratchet beside him with a smothered groan. Prowl looked down without another word, focusing on the ship's controls. The bridge went quiet. On Prowl's display, Sunstreaker watched the other ship gained on them. Into the thick tension, the lift opened. Wheeljack and Grapple, followed by a small horde of mini frames, kicked off the back wall and floated on to the bridge. Wheeljack headed for Prowl, grabbing the Praxian's chair back to look at the display. Bumblebee had headed for Jazz. Grapple maneuvered toward one of the two empty jump seats. The rest of the mini class floated after him. Sunstreaker ground his denta together. Milling mechs on the ground were bad enough. Milling, _floating_ mechs, infinitely more irritating.

"Prime, this poor ship isn't goin' any faster. It ain't built for speed. But Prowl here suggested we divert the power we're loadin' to the gravity instead of forward thrusters into the port side laser," Wheeljack called back over his shoulder, his signal fins flashing weakly, "If... If we cripple an engine..."

"Prowl, that could kill the whole crew," Prime said tightly.

"I hate t' point out they've _been_ killin' us," Jazz drawled from his seat. "I'm bettin' they mean to do just that _now_. Slit our lines or crack us open. I'm with Prowl. They don't need us. Just the ship. Maybe we turn that around. Fry them out an' use their ship to save the folks we hadda leave."

Looking up with a haggard expression, Ironhide said, "Optimus?"

The Prime looked at the big displays over Ironhide and Sideswipe's smaller stations. Hard to read just a mech's optics, but Prime had kept the blast mask up in public since the last battle in Kalis. Sunstreaker shifted uneasily against the harness straps. His movement attracted their glorious leader's attention, and Prime's expression softened. Puzzled, Sunstreaker scowled back. Prime rubbed his head again. "Try not to damage the ship, then. All right, mechs. Jazz and Prowl, you have a plan, Commanders? I'd rather not cripple their engine. That would cost us in repairing it."

Prowl turned to his station, and he typed quickly across its surface. On the big display, a sensor-constructed image of the pursuing ship appeared, animatedly blinking as Prowl spoke, "Judging from the ship's design, if we can aim _here_ and _here_ , we should disable their navigational thrusters. The primary engine presents a better shielded target, _here_."

"Ironhide, think you can hit those targets?" Prime asked.

"Watch me," the old general growled.

"Diverting resources now," Prowl murmured, hands moving.

"Prowl, how long before we can engage the folding accelerators?" Prime asked.

Ironhide stirred eagerly in his seat, bending to study the targeting pattern across his display. In answer to Prime's question, the main display reverted to a copy of Prowl's display. The rebels, creeping closer, with their broken, dead world in the background, and three timers, each lower then the one above. Sunstreaker wanted to be in his quarters, now, instead of watching the screen. Prowl pointed to the screen. "The bottom counter is the estimate for engines. The middle is for the interception. The top is the laser."

"Can we bring the engines up any faster?" Prime asked.

"Not really," Wheeljack said. "The drives need to be a set distance from Cybertron's mass to engage. This wasn't designed as a warship. It was meant as an exploration vessel. Slow and safe."

"The intercept count and the engines are close, Prowl. We're going to be boarded, aren't we?"

"Yes, sir. Unless we really can disable them--"

"Shuddup, you fraggin' _glitch_!" Ironhide hissed, cutting over Prowl. He gave the Praxian a narrow glare, and Sunstreaker stiffened. "Said Ah'd do it--"

"It is the strength of their ship's armor and shielding and the strength of our laser that concern me, General," Prowl cut in. His wings flicked high and tightly pressed back. Guilty, afraid, but the rebuttal wasn't a defense. Prowl never defended himself. Sunstreaker had worked out, long ago, that the AI saw no need. And the mech inside there saw no defense at all. "Any shot is worth striking, but it is my opinion that we will be boarded, that they will attempt to board as close to the bridge as possible, and that we must be ready."

Prime lifted a hand, optics begging Ironhide to drop it. "All right. The bridge would be their fastest way to a takeover. Seal all the airlocks, then. Except the one from the shuttle bay to here. The bay makes the biggest target along our top for them. If we guide them here, we'll have a bottle neck fight. See, I do learn, Prowl."

Prowl's wings flicked, but the mech didn't look up from his rapid typing. "General, the laser is operational."

"Finally," Ironhide snapped. The old mech jacked into the console, like Blaster at the other, and his hands moving only to counterpoint whatever he did with his processor now. The display flashed as the ship's imaging tried to compensate for the flares of laser strikes.

"Shielding over the engine is compromised," Prowl announced into the strained silence. "Their navigational thrusters are holding."

Ironhide fired again, then again. Each flare made Sunstreaker flinch in his seat until the rebels' ship fired back. The ship's lights went out, leaving them in the dark. Ratchet grabbed Sunstreaker's arm again, but the warrior ignored him. The officers shouted all around; the mini class yelped. Sunstreaker could hear Prowl and Wheeljack trying to shout everyone else down so they could bring the lights back up. Minutes crawled by. Sunstreaker had been staring at the counters. Now, he clutched his free hand on his harness, just in time to feel strange hands desperately grab his own. He grabbed the small mech as the thunderous clang rocked the old ship. Above, from the back, Sunstreaker thought wildly. The ship shuddered, and light flared up from the corridor at the back of the bridge.

The high whine of seeker thrusters filled the bridge before the emergency lights burst back into life. Sunstreaker tossed Cliffjumper at the seekers bursting into the bridge before releasing his harness and kicking himself toward the boarders as well. With their internalized flight capabilities, the seekers had the advantage without gravity. The ship's narrow airlocks had been designed with standard Iaconi frames in mind, not the large Vosians, however. Sunstreaker caught a large blue seeker halfway through the airlock. Boomer, he realized after a second. The mech struggled in his hold, struggling to shove him back. Sunstreaker felt Sideswipe reaching across their spark for him, and he opened himself up fitting into the larger whole. On either side of the fight now, he snarled a warning at the mini class hooked into the ship's structure around him. Then he activated the jetpack on its lowest setting.

His momentum caught his other half in the push, and it flung them all into the shuttle bay. The seekers cursed, and he just had time to catch sight of Jumper. The seeker broke free of his hold, then the ship's atmosphere twisted around the black and purple mech, light skewing in terrible way. Cursing, his yellow half knocked a dazing blow to Boomer's head, right across the optics, then hunched up into a ball. Uncoiling, he used the blue seeker's body to launch himself back into the main bridge. Sunstreaker separated himself, aware of his brother wrapped around Starscream, and that a pair of the rebel host's symbiotes attacked him. Jumper had Wheeljack by the throat. Prowl had gotten to them; had grabbed on to the seeker's back between his wide wings and beat the butt of his pistol on the mech's helm.

Megatron had broken through the mini class chain, too, to attack Prime at the console. Ironhide struggled with the host, Soundwave. The symbiotes screamed everywhere. No one fired, Sunstreaker thought crazily. Then he crashed into one of the green construction class mechs; their combiner team survived. Letting that fact filter in without stopping,Sunstreaker stuggled to orient himself, then kicked off the green mech to knock into Prowl and Jumper. Frantically comming Prowl, just to be heard over the battle, Sunstreaker grabbed the Praxian by one twitching panel. [ The engines! Maybe if we fire the engines, we can shake their ship off! ]

Prowl snarled at him, and Jumper shrieked and turned on him, too, and Sunstreaker exchanged blows with the seeker. The AI heard him, though, processed his suggestion as dispassionately as it did everything. Climbing to the top of the ball Sunstreaker and Jumper made, Prowl launched himself at Wheeljack. The engineer's hands already moved over the console. Strapped into the seat and plugged into the ship's computer, he did _something_ that made the ship lurch and shudder. Prowl strapped into the seat beside him and echoed his set up. Sunstreaker lost sight of them after Jumper punched him in the face. The seeker's hands locked around his throat.

He felt Sideswipe fly past him; Boomer threw them both into the bridge. Blaster's voice shouted across his comm, but he gave it no attention. Bringing his arms up between Jumper's, Sunstreaker used his leverage to break the seeker's grip. His intake burned, and his throat structure felt raw. He kicked at the seeker's body with both pedes, only to have Boomer crash into him from the side. Sunstreaker felt the ship lurch, but what stopped him was the terrible screech of tearing metal. A panicked scream came from the shuttle bay. Twisting in his spin, Sunstreaker just had time to see the airlocks close, at least one of their own on the wrong side.

The screeching came again, the ship shuddering forward faster and faster, Boomer shouted at Starscream who shouted at Jumper. Megatron snarled and broke Prime's damned mask with a savage punch. The rebel leader threw himself through the bridge at Prowl and Wheeljack. The Praxian looked up, denta set in a snarl, and slammed his hands across the console. The whole ship threw itself forward. Sunstreaker felt it in the shuddering metal under his hands. Heard it in the complaints of stressed components. Warning sirens came up, and a sudden, cold gas hit Sunstreaker like a wall. Shouting, he twisted around. He tried to scramble past the pair of seekers, but the gas filled the bridge. The display began to spin crazily, and Sunstreaker forced himself to listen to the alarm. Panic set in, but darkness shut him down.

* * *

_Stasis command protocol initiated._

One of its crew had triggered the stasis protocol, but no one hailed it from the planet's surface to give it instructions. No one within could do so now. The ship counted through its mandatory wait for its masters' orders and contemplated the last instructions it had received. Planetary parameters. Strategic flight patterns. Avoidance guidelines. At the end of its count, the ship delicately stabilized its flight and considered the instructions, the objectives and its current flight path and speed. A cursory scan of its files brought up one highlight. Coming from the reports of a seeker-shuttle exploration team, one of their search results promised the best fit to the ship's objective. High in water content, perhaps, for its occupants needs, but nothing else seemed viable. The ship noted the shuttle had fallen there, due to magnetic disturbances.

_Autopilot engaged._

Resuming its acceleration and correcting its course, the ship gave little thought to its estimated arrival time. Its crew would not wake up until someone breached the airlocks and ended the stasis protocol. Or the ship had reached a second countdown in a safe environment to bring them out itself. Set on its course, and its crew no longer in need of its resources, the ship shut down all but the most vital systems. Every ounce of fuel needed to be conserved for its long, long trip. It had to keep its occupants safe until they could be woken.

_Estimated time of arrival..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for a bit. I'll be working on Contracted to a good close point for a while. Although, this last chapter did not want to cooperate, so if someone spots an issue, I'll be happy to listen. Thank you for reading!


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